Atlantis ASV Episode 1: Atlantis
by Cmdr. James Banick
Summary: UPDATED. Complete episode online. This is a Season 3 fan fiction work set 8 years after the events of 2032. Atlantis is a new ship and she has a new crew...If you are interested to learn more, visit the website at atlantisasv.
1. Sleeping Giants

**-ATLANTIS ASV-**

**EPISODE I**

_The year is 2040,_

_And mankind is once again at war._

_Against all odds, and in a brave new world;_

_Beneath the surface._

_On our last great frontier, _

_We defend the future..._

**The Cast. **

**The United Earth Oceans.**

Arthur Dallinsley (Secretary General of the UEO)

Captain Lauren Hornsby (Captain of the UEO Aquarius)

Admiral Nathan Bridger

Captain Oliver Hudson

Captain Arnold Randbrough.

Commander Ben Adler

Admiral Timothy Locke

Commander Allison Jamieson

**Crew of the UEO Atlantis ASV 8100.**

Captain Mark Ainsley

Commander James Banick

Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride

Lieutenant Commander Madeline Hayes

Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Jack Phillips

Lieutenant Commander Ryan Callaghan

Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens

**UEO Atlantis Raptor Squadron Alpha. (VF-107 Rapiers)**

Commander Gabriel Hitchcock (Squadron Leader)

Lieutenant Jane Roberts. (Squadron XO)

Lieutenant Tom Reynolds (Rapier 3)

**The Macronesian Alliance.**

President Alexander Bourne

General Henry Adamson

Captain Lance Raymond

**I**

**Sleeping Giants**

**United Earth Oceans Headquarters. Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. **

**October 28th, 2040…**

The bay of Pearl Harbor had changed little in over a century. It had been the Headquarters of countless fleets, the center of many conflicts, and the most strategically important location in the entire Pacific Ocean. Today, it was the headquarters of a new 'United Nations' - The United Earth Oceans organization, but it was upon that very note that the UEO was uneasy, and torn by debate.

For nearly 20 years, the UEO had fought to maintain peace across the Pacific while competing with what used to be known as the New Australian Confederation.

Following a major economic summit held in the wake of major political dissolution in 2026, the United Earth Oceans had decided to lift the ban on Colonial deregulation... putting more than a hundred thousand square miles of undeveloped basins back on the economic market. Overnight, hundreds of new colonies ranging from mining prospects to sprawling civilian metropolises and even military bases sprang from the seafloor. Unfortunately, the UEO had been unable to control an explosion of commerce or the subsequent fallout of wealth, power and greed by countless national confederations.

Simply put, the UEO found itself outgunned and outmanned. The Alliance of Macronesia – formerly known as the New Australian Confederation – was one of many powers that had vested huge resources in to colonizing the unclaimed territories across the Pacific. Within a decade, they were one of the richest and most powerful alliances in not only the Pacific, but the entire planet. Australia and many of her allies had been under the pressure of UEO trade embargos for years since they resigned their memberships to the UEO, and did everything in their power to protect their national interests… even if it meant taking control of the hundreds of resource-rich neutral colonies and industrial centers throughout the Pacific.

For nearly 20 years, the UEO had sought a diplomatic solution to the rising conflicts beneath the sea. But with hundreds, if not thousands of UEO Peacekeepers stationed in the Pacific, they had only two choices; pull out and let the colonists fight for themselves, or commit the world to an unbelievably bloody war. On many occasions, UEO Subfighter Carrier Battlegroups had been deployed to subdue crises that had arisen, but never had they directly struck out against Macronesia herself. It was a new cold war, but this one only seemed to be getting hotter.

The United Earth Oceans organization – formed for the purposes of political stability, peacekeeping and exploration of the seas - was dying.

There was one possible cure to this ailment… and that was the whole reason that Captain Mark Ainsley was now in Pearl Harbor.

Shortly after its formation in 2025, Macronesia had begun a dangerous military build up that had since made them one of the most powerful nations on Earth. Their navy was a force that rivalled the UEO in almost every regard – size, manpower, resources and flexibility. If there was one area the UEO had managed to maintain an edge with, it was technology.

There was perhaps only one thing had kept the Alliance from crossing the line of war; the UEO's flagship - the Deep Submergence Vehicle; seaQuest.

When the first seaQuest was designed and built in 2015, it represented the cutting edge of naval technology. She was over 1000 feet long and was built at a construction cost of 9 Billion US Dollars. Unfortunately, she was destroyed a mere 12 months after she had been placed in UEO hands. Her loss at the time had been too much to bear.

In 2021; the UEO seaQuest DSV 4600 II was launched and commissioned to replace her.

Ainsley was one of a rare few officers in the UEO who knew exactly what was going on along the sprawling shipyards of Ford Island in recent days. seaQuest was rapidly approaching her 22nd year of service to the fleet, and she was losing her edge. The UEO needed something new… something that would ensure its continued edge in the cold war against the Alliance.

Captain Ainsley was to be the commander of that replacement - the first of the "Advanced Submergence Vehicles."

Walking down Pier 75 of the UEO docks, Ainsley looked across the bay at Ford Island and the construction facility that lay upon it.

The Aries fleet yards had been completed only a few years earlier and were already churning out the first of the new ASVs. The Captain smiled as he walked: those new subs were his reason for being there, the first of the class, the Atlantis, designated Advanced Submergence Vehicle 8100, was the largest, most advanced submarine ever designed, and also the most secretive.

The Atlantis program was classified to the point that only several people in command, and he himself, knew about it. (The many hundreds of workers who were building the submarines were hand picked from the best minds across the UEO. Engineers from Lockheed Martin, Vickers Shipbuilding and even NASA had been called in to work on the project.)

Beside him, the UEO headquarters towered above the bay. The headquarters of the UEO had been relocated so many times that Ainsley had difficulty keeping track. Firstly; it had been established in Pearl Harbor in 2016, and then had been moved to New Cape Quest in Florida, and then to the Ballard Institute on San Diego Island.

Finally, the UEO HQ was moved back to Pearl Harbor in 2036 – an extremely controversial decision that did not sit well with some people in the UEO… even him.

The problem with its current location was its extremely close proximity to the UEO-Macronesian Demilitarized Zone. It was the most obvious target in the entire Pacific, and should a war actually break out, Hawaii would be a primary target of the opening shots. Passing a Marine who snapped to attention, Ainsley saluted before beginning to walk up the path leading to the massive headquarters tower. Footsteps approaching quickly from behind made him frown and he turned to see who it was. He recognised the man almost instantly, and his face beamed.

"Damn it Oliver, how the hell are you!"

Captain Oliver Hudson was a long-time friend of Ainsley, and also the commanding officer of the aging seaQuest. Hudson walked up with a grin that matched his own and put out his hand. "Damn, you look old. How long's it been Mark?"

"Must be at lest 5 years," said Ainsley with a grin that did not dull as he took the offered hand.

"How're Samantha and the kids?"

"Really good. Last I heard you were out with the seaQuest. What brings you back here?"

The balding Hudson began walking with Ainsley towards the command building and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, I _was._ Command called me back here regarding the _things-that-shall-not-be-named._ They sent out a Helojet to pick me up. We were about 400 miles from Japan at the time."

Ainsley turned his head to face Hudson with surprise as they continued to walk. "…What do you mean 'things-that-shall-not-be-named?"

Hudson smiled wryly. "Oh come on, Mark. You didn't think they'd leave me out of the loop did you? Bridger brought me in as a so-called 'technical advisor'."

Ainsley blinked several times as he gathered his thoughts. He didn't realise that Hudson had been told about the ASVs, and was more than a little surprised. "Nathan Bridger… well, that explains a few things."

Walking up the flight of stairs inside the foyer of the UEO command building, they came to the first security checkpoint – one of many throughout the complex. One of several Marines at the station held up a hand. "Sirs, if you will raise your arms please."

Obediently, Hudson and Ainsley held out their arms as the marine ran a scanner over them, checking for firearms, or other items not permitted with the high-security building. He finished his work in short order, and saluted quickly once he was satisfied. "You're clear sirs, go on in."

Nodding curtly with thanks, Ainsley lead Hudson through the check station and into the reception.

As usual, the headquarters of the United Earth Oceans was bustling with activity. Junior officers, Captains and Admirals alike walked through the corridors of the facility as equals, each one treating another with respect and dignity. Of course, it could be argued that in the military, that would have been expected anyway. But there was a certain air of difference about this place. It was not the mutual patriotism shared by the officers that created it, but rather the _diversity _of those officers. The UEO drew officers from all over the world; the United States, Great Britain, Japan, Canada, Germany, Russia… and many other nations that had formed in the wake of the oceanic boom of the 21st century. There was a common purpose here, one that went beyond 'duty' and national pride.

Walking through the reception, the two Captains crossed the massive marble seal of the UEO on the lobby's floor. The symbol represented everything the UEO stood for; with a globe of cloud-swirled water providing the dramatic backdrop for the 3-pronged Trident in the centre of the circular seal – each point representing one of the foundations which the organization was built one; strength, diversity and unity.

Outside the seal, a wreath of gold leaves represented the founding traditions of almost every navy in the world. Or at least… it _did._

Walking down the main east-wing corridor of the building, Ainsley and Hudson stepped into the elevator. Almost immediately, a pleasant female voice greeted them. "Welcome to UEO headquarters. Please specify location."

Ainsley cleared his throat. "Computer, deck-"…he paused as he realised he was not on a submarine. "-Level 9."

With an affirming beep, the doors slid closed and the elevator proceeded upward.

  

Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley sat in his office in the upper levels of the UEO headquarters busily talking to Admiral Bridger over his computer. Dallinsley had been the C-in-C of the UEO Navy for nearly 4 years after replacing the UEO's former Secretary General Thomas McGath at the compulsory end of his 8th year in office. (In fact, McGath had served as secretary-general of the UEO for closer to 15 years – his term had been extended under the advice of the Security Council in the wake of the deepening crisis with Macronesia.)

The man in the hologram before him was well known. Greying and definitely out of place in his Admiral's uniform, Nathan Bridger was the United Earth Ocean's most celebrated commander. He had designed and subsequently commanded the first two seaQuests, and was perhaps one of only a few men in the UEO military who wasn't seen as being a 'jar head'. Bridger was a level-headed veteran of both science and the navy, and this gave him a very unique view on the world.

The Secretary General couldn't help but smile at Bridger; the man looked his age, just as Dallinsley did, and he knew Bridger should have retired years ago. They were both products of a generation gone by, but as always… something kept them both exactly where they were.

"Listen, Nathan," said Dallinsley. "I won't pretend to understand the technical stuff you and your people have to deal with, but I'm getting a lot of pressure from the Security Council to see the Atlantis ready for deployment by next week."

Bridger, a salted sailor and patient man shook his head with amusement. "Don't worry, mister Secretary. The engineers at Aries have already given the go ahead for the final upload of the computer software. I've seen the boats, and they are practically finished. We just need time to tidy a few things up."

"As far as I understood, they have been 'tidied up' for the last 3 months."

"Yes, but do you realise just how long it takes to make a boat of this size sea-worthy?"

"The media is beginning to ask questions," countered Dallinsley. "Do _you _know how hard it is to keep three boats of this size a secret?"

Bridger paused for a minute. The secretary general had made his point, and there was no reason to argue it. "Alright. I'll keep you posted… Just try and keep those cameras off Ford Island."

The hologram faded to nothing, and was quickly replaced by a slowly-rotating image of the UEO crest. Sitting back in his chair, Dallinsley looked up to see his secretary standing at the door. Her fine drawn features and formal suit suggested a news presenter, not a military liaison. "Excuse me, Mister Secretary. Captains Ainsley and Hudson are here."

The C-in-C nodded as he put several papers in to the top desk of his drawer. Many of them marked with the letterhead of 'Section Seven'. He locked the drawer quickly. "Thankyou, Melanie. Send them in."

A few moments later, Captains Mark Ainsley and Oliver Hudson walked through the door and Hudson closed it behind him. They both came to attention and saluted. "At ease, gentlemen," said the Secretary General dismissively. "I'm not in the military any more. You don't need to salute me every time you walk in to a room."

Both men came to a less formal stance and Hudson removed his hat before putting it beneath his arm. Ainsley however did not remove his. "You asked to see us, mister Secretary?"

Dallinsley nodded and extended a hand towards the two seats on the opposite side of his desk. "Have a seat. I'll start off by saying that this conversation is now being recorded due to its nature."

"Yes sir."

The Secretary General nodded, glad that there would be no further discussion on that point and then dimmed the lights of the office before activating a large holographic display at the front of his office. The display showed several sets of 3D schematics for a Submarine that resembled more of an Aircraft – the wide, graceful wings and sweeping lines did not belong to the sea. "As you know, the Atlantis is about a week from launching. I've just been confirming the final plans for the installation of the new computer software that is to go in the sub's computer cores later this week with Admiral Bridger. He says he is… _'tidying up'_ the loose ends."

The two Captains did not move as Dallinsley continued casually. "However, the reason I've called you both here today is to discuss these..."

Dallinsley reached to the side of his desk to retrieve two letters before placing them in front of the officers. "Your new orders; cleared this afternoon by the office of Fleet Admiral Jefferson, CINCPAC."

Hudson frowned and folded his arms. "Sir, I was under the impression that I was headed back to the seaQuest?"

The Secretary General nodded affirmatively. "You will be, but these orders apply to you both."

Hudson worked his jaw a moment as he thought about it and then settled in to the chair. Dallinsley turned back to the holographic display and hit a small button on his desk. The image resolved into a 3D globe of the world that zoomed in on the Pacific Ocean and the approaches to Pearl Harbor. "The seaQuest is to accompany the Atlantis on her first shakedown run. Over the past few months, numerous UEO attack subs have vanished without a trace upon their first sea trials. We have received no word from them and found no wreckage. Intelligence would suggest sabotage, and even with the secrecy of the Atlantis, command is taking no chances."

This time it was Ainsley's turn to ask questions. "Wise, but assuming the Atlantis does fall in to a trap, how can we be sure that the seaQuest won't do the same?"

Hudson turned and gave Ainsley a disgusted look. Clearly he was unhappy with the thought of the seaQuest being considered 'inferior' in any way, shape or form. Dallinsley turned back to the 2 captains and leaned back in his chair. The Secretary General looked worried; a bad sign. There were clearly parts of this operation that had not been fully considered. "That's a valid concern, Captain. And it's something I've already brought it to the Joint Chief's attention. The seaQuest will not be in direct company with Atlantis on shakedown. Captain Hudson will shadow you at a distance of 100 kilometres and monitor the Atlantis for any mishaps."

Hudson grinned with an all-to-sinister smile directed at Ainsley. "Don't screw up, that's a long way ahead to call in the cavalry."

"Thanks."

Dallinsley ignored Hudson's remark and continued. "The exact details of your mission are being withheld until the last minute. The UEO has invested too much to let this fall apart."

Ainsley nodded and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk in front of him. There was a lot to think about here, and the biggest concern that didn't even need to be mentioned was what Macronesia's reaction would be as soon as they found out about the ASVs. "I understand sir."

The Secretary General slowly leaned forward and finished up the meeting by bringing the lights in the office back up. "Good, if there are no further questions on your part, I will get you to sign these non-disclosure forms."

Opening a desk drawer, the Secretary General of the UEO pulled out 2 pieces of paper and placed each one in front of Ainsley and Hudson along with a pen. "We will meet again at the Aries yards on Wednesday. I'll have details sent to you both soon. Until then, consider yourselves at liberty."

Getting up from the table, Hudson and Ainsley saluted the Commander-in-Chief somewhat casually and then straightened their uniforms. "Thank you, mister secretary."

"You're dismissed."

  

**Honolulu City, Hawaii. November 2nd, 2040…**

Standing over a billiards table in a local bar, dressed in civilian attire, Commander James Banick – age 30 – watched as the white ball smacked up against another on the table, and sank it; the eight ball. Normally, this would be a good thing… except right then he wasn't _supposed _to sink it.

"Hmmm," said Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride thoughtfully as she examined her own cue. "And you play… how often, Commander?"

Banick sighed in frustration. Today was not his day, and he replaced the cue on its rack before facing the young woman. She'd beaten him… again… and he doubted he would hear the end of it any time soon. "Hey, I sank more balls than you… and besides, I have better things to do than play pool all day."

Canebride laughed lightly as she began walking over to the bar. Banick followed close behind, not being able to help but admire the way she strolled across the floor with an effortless grace. "2 beers, thanks," said Canebride, sitting down at the bar.

Banick sat down beside her and leaned back in the bar stool, quietly casting an eye over her tight-fitting jeans and delicate frame, just subtly enough not to be noticed. "What's so funny, just out of idle curiosity?"

She looked at him playfully. _"You_ are. You're not very good at covering for losing."

Banick shrugged with a wry grin as he thanked the bar tender for the beer. "Ouch. Do you always devour men like this?"

She laughed again before picking up the mug in front of her. "Only the ones with attitude problems."

Canebride nearly dropped her mug as her PAL (Personal Access Link) beeped in her back pocket. She removed it and opened it to see the face of Captain Mark Ainsley on the screen. "Lieutenant Commander… is Commander Banick with you?"

She nodded affirmatively, looking quickly to Banick next to her with an inquisitive smile. "Yes, Captain."

"Good, we need you out at Ford Island in 1 hour."

Canebride frowned, unsure of what was going on. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"No, not at all. We're going to have a look at the new boat."

"Ah, understood. Aye sir, we'll be there."

Closing the link, she sighed and got up before turning to Banick and looking at him apologetically. "Time to go."

  

**Ford Island "Aries" Construction Yards. Pearl Harbor. Atlantis Design and Development Facility. November 2nd, 2041…**

Captain Ainsley rode in the front seat of the Hummer as it crossed the Ford Island Bridge on the way to the UEO Construction facility situated on the Island itself. A good deal of the base known as "Aries" was submerged in the Central Loch of Pearl Harbor, after a massive construction effort had cut out huge sections of the Island to accommodate the big submarine docks on the island. Several construction-dry-docks and piers did exist on the surface, but the primary purpose for the Aries facility was the completion of the new Submarines.

The submarines of the Atlantis class were the largest ever designed at 488 meters long each and weighing over 200,000 tonnes. Ainsley himself knew very little about them… and in a week he was expected to command one of them. The UEO had wrapped the vessels in so much secrecy that even those who were expected to be directly involved knew _just_ what they needed to, and not a word more.

The Hummer came to a stop at the UEO security checkpoint at the Island's edge, and the marine on duty asked for their IDs.

Pulling out his wallet, Ainsley showed his security pass to the soldier and he waved them through without much hesitation. Despite being kept in the dark about much of the project, Ainsley _did _have full security clearance to access every facility in Pearl Harbor.

Ford Island had held many purposes over the decades. First it served as a US naval air station during World War 2, and then a SEAL training base. Today, it was one of the United Earth Ocean's biggest Submarine docks. Piers and repair facilities were scattered everywhere around the island, but the only one that was of any interest to Ainsley on that day was the one at the very end, sitting imposingly above every other complex around it.

The Hummer stopped again outside the UEO Administration building and Ainsley opened the door and got out, taking his sunglasses off as he walked in to the shadow of the big building. He thanked the driver before walking up to the building's entrance. He noticed that Hudson and Dallinsley were already waiting for him, with a group of other Admirals standing off further away. The Marine at the door snapped to attention and Ainsley threw him a leisurely salute as he passed.

"Captain, Admiral," said Ainsley, greeting the 2 other officers as he entered the Building, following the lead of the Secretary General and Hudson.

Arthur Dallinsley, a retired UEO Admiral-gone-politician seemed impassive. "Good to see you made it, Mark; this way."

Motioning for Hudson and Ainsley to follow, Dallinsley began walking through the facility. "Admiral Bridger has informed me that the last of the computer software went in without a hitch. Atlantis is practically operational. We feel confident that Aquarius will be in the same state in a few days."

Hudson listened attentively as he looked around the gleaming, modern interior of the shipyard's foyer. The Aquarius was the Atlantis' sister ship and had been laid down only a few days after work had begun on Atlantis on April 4th, 2038 – 2 years previously. "Any word on who is going to command the Aquarius yet?" he asked casually.

Dallinsley nodded as he swiped his ID through the security panel on the door leading to the Atlantis Design Centre. "Yes there is, Captain. I believe you both know of her; Captain Lauren Hornsby."

That stopped Ainsley, making him blink in amazement. He did infact know Hornsby, and to find out that she was taking command of the Aquarius was nothing short of stunning... for several good reasons. "Are you joking? I served with her on the Aegis for 5 years."

"She is a very fine officer, Captain Ainsley; that I don't doubt. She made Captain only a few months ago - very young for that kind of position. Quite remarkable she got command of such a large boat so soon if you ask me."

"Remarkable?" repeated Ainsley. "It's unheard of. She's not a day over 35!"

"Technically speaking, she's almost month over 35," corrected Dallinsley as they headed further down the corridor.

It was a new voice from behind that made the three men stop. _"Ahem…"_

Turning around, they met the gaze of a woman wearing a uniform bearing the wreath-framed trident insignia of a Captain. She was quite attractive, and definitely appeared too young to be wearing insignia of that rank. Ainsley's expression was one of mixed surprise and awkwardness. "…What a… What an _unexpected _surprise, _Captain_ Hornsby."

She looked at him inquisitively, betraying nothing from her otherwise cold, hazel eyes. "So it would seem," she replied.

Secretary General Dallinsley seemed a little amused by the exchange between the two Captains, and did his best to hide a smug grin. "I asked Captain Hornsby to accompany us on the tour so she could get acquainted with the new boats," he confessed finally. "I didn't think you would mind."

Dallinsley may have been able to hide his amusement, but Ainsley couldn't as he simply smiled stupidly, a little stunned that he had been caught out so easily. The Secretary General's PAL chirped from his pocket, and Dallinsley excused himself as he took a few steps further down the hall to take the call. "It's good to see you again Lauren," managed Ainsley finally.

"You too, Mark. I can't say I was surprised when I heard you had command of the Atlantis. How many promotions is that which you've turned down now? Two?"

Ainsley held up three fingers, biting his lip as he did so. "Three," he corrected. "I guess I'm just not ready for a desk job just yet."

The last time Ainsley had seen Hornsby, he had been a Commander, and she had only been a Lieutenant – a difference of a full two ranks apart. For a moment, he found himself wondering just how many other officers he knew that had pushed their way ahead in the chain of command. Dallinsley finally finished with the call, and walked back looking at Ainsley. "Excuse me. Captain? Two of your senior officers just arrived. They're waiting for us at the moorings."

  

Commander James Banick whistled at the sight before him. Standing on the submerged observation deck of the Aries fleet yards, and staring out through the glass view ports at what lay beyond, he was in complete awe. Sitting in the submerged construction area, surrounded by many and various pieces of scaffolding and docking arms, was the largest warship he had ever seen. Her smooth, sweeping lines and broad wings suggested a bird, not a submarine.

The UEO Atlantis ASV 8100 would be the new flagship of the UEO Navy, and was every inch the warship she was built to be. Bristling with torpedo tubes, particle cannons and missiles, it would be the bane of any Alliance submariner who dared to cross swords with her… or at least, that was the UEO's plan.

Traditionally, Submarines were always called 'boats', but the word seemed to do the vessel before him a great injustice.

Beside him, Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride was in equal awe. "So… which one is ours?" she asked with numb amazement.

Banick cast his eyes back and forth over the two submarines that completely filled the dock; both almost identical in shape and form. "Well… to be honest… I have no idea which one is the Atlantis."

"Impressive, aren't they Commander?" said Captain Ainsley rhetorically from behind them. Stepping out of the corridor, Hornsby, Ainsley, Hudson and Dallinsley came to stand by Banick and Canebride to look out at the huge boats; Aquarius and Atlantis, side by side, and being all but indistinguishable from one another.

Banick simply shook his head in disbelief. Each ASV was a full 180 meters longer than the previous seaQuest class and easily four or even five times the volume. "I'll say, sir. Are they finished?"

Ainsley nodded slowly, looking at his new boat through the glass. "Yes. Right down to the last torpedo tube."

The Secretary General nodded in approval at the two submarines, marvelling their lines and sheer size. "They cost an absolute fortune. The new hull design took months of refinement to get right. The total construction cost for each boat came to about 36 Billion US dollars."

Captain Hudson gawked at Dallinsley. "36…_Billion?"_

"That's right. That excludes the cost of R&D. If we were to factor that in… well, let's just say the Security Council probably passed this off in the budget as a very expensive hammer." Dallinsley let the comment hang for a moment, and then smiled as he looked away to the boarding towers, hidden away behind heavy sets of clamshell pressure doors. "Shall we?"

  

To describe the interior of the submarine as 'impressive' was a gross understatement. The small group of officers entered the submarine through the port side EVA docking bays, and found themselves in a very large arrivals foyer that was gleaming from ceiling to floor. "The Extra-Vehicular Activity" area of the submarine was bustling with activity as workmen did the final clean up of the Submarine before its launch, scheduled for the following week.

Everything was very modern, and immediately in front of the big pressure doors through which they had boarded, engraved in to the wall, was a large 3-pronged trident; set proudly above the words "Atlantis ASV". The metal grates that made up the deck beneath the officer's feet gleamed with a metallic shine that was never seen on anything but the newest vessels. The boldest of the changes in appearance that they all noted was that - unlike the seaQuest - all the ship's power conduits and systems were concealed beneath pristine bulkheads with fine curves that matched the boat's sleek exterior.

Hudson let out a long, drawn breath as he looked around the immaculate interior with humbled disbelief. "Ok, I'm impressed," Hudson confessed with a degree of jealousy as he began walking around the EVA foyer. Rounding the first, wide corridor's corner, they came to a junction. Directly ahead of them, a pair of extremely heavy 'clamshell' doors sealed off the hangar area while two other corridors at the cross junction stretched down towards the bow and stern.

The Secretary General stopped for a moment. "This is the forward Hangar. As most of you are probably aware, the Atlantis class was designed to carry large amounts of sub-fighters. Therefore, the amount of space that has been allowed for the purpose is quite generous."

Hudson rubbed his forehead as he took in all the information. "How many EVA assets?"

The Secretary General moved towards the two clamshell doors and pulled out his ID before swiping it through the access terminal. "Fully loaded? About 90."

Moments after Dallinsley had swiped his ID through the control panel, the Clamshell doors hissed for a moment, causing warning bells to ring through the hall, and with the audible "thunk" of the magnetic locks disengaging, the huge, solid-titanium doors swung inward to reveal the cavernous hangars within…

Looking around the vast chamber, all those present had their mouths open in shock, and totally unsure of what surprises would be thrown at them next. The huge hangar stretched out for a distance of over 300 meters before them. It covered the entire area of no less than 4 decks. Lining the sides of each level of the hangar and being illuminated eerily by the shimmering moonpools below, were rank upon rank of Raptor class Subfighters. Hanging from the ceilings high above, dramatically framed by the rows of fighters below, were two flags – one; the blue flag of the United Earth Oceans, the second; the flag of the Atlantis herself; a gold delta overlayed with a trident and the ship's name in bold blue lettering.

The moonpools below were the entry and exit points for the submarine's many smaller craft. Effectively, it was a large water-filled section of the Atlantis that was open to the sea via a system of tunnels and then finally a set of large pressure doors that shielded the hangars from the crushing depths of the sea beyond.

The Admiral clasped his hands behind his back as he continued the tour, his voice echoing throughout the otherwise empty chambers. "Right now, she's carrying 6 squadrons of 12 Raptors each. That makes 72 combat-ready EVA assets if I'm not mistaken. She can carry more, but this is the standard compliment."

So taken by the sight in front of them, the officers didn't notice the other man on the level above them. "And that, my friends, is more than 4 Macronesian sub fighter carriers," came the observation from the upper deck. Ainsley and his companions craned their necks up to see an enlisted man (a non-commissioned officer, to be exact) looking down at them with a smug grin.

Secretary General Dallinsley sighed and shook his head. He didn't look too surprised that the NCO had chosen to interrupt. "Captain Ainsley…" he said quietly as the young enlisted man above vaulted himself off the ledge to land with a skilful grace on the deck below. "…I'd like you to meet your chief engineer. Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens."

The Chief saluted, but Ainsley opted instead to counter by offering his hand. He dared not admit it, but he liked the man's attitude. "How long you been working on this boat, Chief?" asked Ainsley.

"What makes you think I've been working on her, sir?" asked the Chief with a slight frown, taking Ainsley's hand with a firm, strong grip.

"Well, for one thing, I can't think of another reason for an officer as junior as yourself to be given access to this submarine. So, either you're a spy, or you're involved in building my boat somehow."

Stevens smiled lopsidedly. The Captain had a point. "I've been here since she was laid-out on the docks in '38, sir. I know her inside and out."

"And what's your opinion of her?" asked Ainsley with a cautious gaze.

"We've built you a hell of a boat, Captain. I doubt there's much that could stand up to her in a fair fight and expect to come away without a bloody nose."

Ainsley smiled inwardly and nodded slowly. Dallinsley raised an eyebrow, taking careful note of the exchange between the two officers, and then decided he'd best move on. "Chief Stevens, I'd like you to meet Captain Lauren Hornsby - Commander of the Aquarius, Commander James Banick - the Atlantis exec, Lieutenant commander Natalie Canebride, 3rd officer and helmsman, and this is Captain-"

"-Oliver _Hudson,"_ interrupted Stevens. "Captain of the seaQuest - Sir, it's an honour."

Hudson looked at Stevens with considerably less accommodation than Ainsley had done, and merely nodded with a frown; perhaps a passing recognition but certainly nothing more. Ainsley and Hornsby exchanged a wary glance with each other, noticing Hudson's tension, and the Chief worked his jaw and cleared his throat in the following silence. "Well… I should… umm. Probably get back to work."

"Probably not a bad idea," said Hudson with a cold and unimpressed edge to his voice.

As Stevens disappeared quickly, leaving Ainsley and Hornsby to look at Hudson with pity. Hudson was quite a personable man for those who knew him, but he had an infamous reputation when it came to officers like Stevens. Dallinsley cleared his throat, motioning to the hangar doors once again. "Shall we continue to the bridge?"

...The big clam-doors that shielded the bridge of the Atlantis were a new design from those on the seaQuest. For one thing, they were dark blue; a contrast to the ship's otherwise-gleaming corridors, and a change from the polished metallic doors of the seaQuest. Secondly, the doors were much larger than those of the seaQuest, and instead of the standard "pressure seal" that was common to all past designs, these doors had interlocking joints which would, if necessary, enable the entire command centre to be magnetically sealed and pressurised; sealing it off from the rest of the boat entirely. The big doors swung outward with a hiss, and the usual accompaniment of caution bells, and the group of officers stood on the threshold of the nerve centre of the Atlantis - the Bridge.

There was only one thing wrong, it was dark. The bridge was completely shut down.

The Secretary General looked at Ainsley in the dim light from the corridor outside. "Captain Ainsley, she's your boat. Why don't you do the honours?"

The Captain looked at Dallinsley in bafflement. "Sir?"

The Admiral shrugged. "Well…lights _would _be a good start."

Captain Ainsley had no idea what the Secretary General was talking about. Dallinsley was not normally one who liked being cryptic, but Hudson and Lauren Hornsby could tell that the Secretary General was enjoying himself in that moment.

Ainsley said nothing as he cautiously stepped forward, through the doors and on to the Bridge deck.

What happened next nearly made him jump out of his skin. The bridge suddenly came to life; lights snapping on the moment he stepped on to the command deck. As diagnostics screens lit up dead monitors, and the hum of machinery brought a soft throbbing to the deck beneath his feet, a pleasant female voice echoed throughout the cavernous bridge chambers. "Authorized Personnel detected. Captain Mark A. Ainsley. Commencing first time systems start up."

Ainsley stopped, looking around in bewilderment. "What the hell…"

"Primary fusion core: online. Engine systems: standby. Tactical and EVA systems: offline. Helm: offline. Sensor systems: offline. Command systems: online. All major systems functioning at optimal levels."

Hudson, Hornsby, Canebride and Banick were clearly impressed. Never had a submarine shown such a degree of self-awareness as the Atlantis had just done. Dallinsley however bore nothing but a huge grin. "It looks like Admiral Bridger got that computer software working after all…"

The bridge was massive. Stretching for nearly 50 meters in length and about 30 meters in width. It was spread over 3 ringed decks, each with its own stations and within clear view of the Command stations at the Bridge's rear and the view screen at the foremost deck of the bridge. It was by far the most advanced command centre Ainsley had ever seen on a warship. "Well I'll be damned…"

Admiral Dallinsley smiled. "Welcome aboard the Atlantis, Mark. She's your boat now."

  

**Melbourne, Australia. Macronesian Alliance Capital Territory. Presidential Residence. November 3rd, 2040…**

Alexander Bourne – President of the Macronesian Alliance - was in a very bad mood. He slammed his fist down on his desk as he looked at the photos in front of him. His military chief, General Henry Adamson, stood in front of the desk waiting patiently. He disliked having to deliver this kind of news to the President, because in most cases, Bourne did _not_ take it well. "How long has the UEO been building these boats?"

Adamson paused before answering. He needed to choose his words carefully. It didn't take much to push the President over the edge. "Sir, our agent says that they have been in development for quite some time. By the looks of things, they were designed to replace the sea…"

Bourne looked at the General with blazing, furious eyes. "I _know_ what they were designed for. That much is _obvious!"_ Bourne stopped. Taking a breath and a moment to compose himself. "…How _long?"_

"3 Years, Mr. President."

Bourne sank into his chair and sighed. "3 _years?"_

"Yes, sir."

Bourne decided in quick order that he was in no mood to sit down, and got up from his chair to walk to the window… gazing out over the western hills of Victoria over the bay of Port Phillip below. It was a dramatic and breathtaking view, and Adamson knew that Bourne often used it to sooth his nerves. After 15 years of being the head of the Macronesian Alliance, the stress of work was finally beginning to take its toll. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, allowing a long, drawn-out sigh. "When are they due to be launched?"

Adamson did not move from where he stood. His chiselled features remaining devoid of all expression. "The _Atlantis_ is due to be commissioned within the week Mister President. To the best of our knowledge, it will be leaving Pearl Harbor on its first sea trials on the 8th of this month."

Bourne turned. His face looked worn from a lack of sleep. "How does the UEO manage to build submarines of this scale without the world knowing, Henry?" he asked rhetorically, and with exhaustion. "First in 2032, seaQuest appeared out of thin air… and now… Now _this."_

Adamson joined the President by the window, looking out over Port Phillip Bay and the streets of Melbourne below. "There's more, sir. I did not include it in the report, as I felt it was something that needed… _special consideration"_

Surprisingly, Bourne remained calm, turning a curious eyebrow up at the comment. "Oh?"

General Adamson straightened. "seaQuest is accompanying Atlantis on her shakedown cruise. It… _does _present us with a somewhat unique opportunity, sir."

The Alliance President worked his jaw unhappily. _"seaQuest", _he repeated with venom. "How can one boat vex us so greatly? We have over 3 times the forces of the UEO, and yet that _one _submarine has stood in our path at every turn. Then they give us these… _monstrosities… _to contend with."

General Adamson was silent. He waited for the President to formulate his thoughts. Another of Bourne's traits, he had learned, was that he hated being interrupted. "General…"

Adamson took a step forward. "Sir?"

Bourne clasped his hands on the desk as he sat down and thought for a moment. "You are right. This _does _give us a unique opportunity. We can kill two birds with one stone."

General Adamson couldn't suppress the stab of dread that picked away at his insides. "You _do _realise that this would likely drive us to war, sir. Certainly, this was inevitable at some point or another down the path, but we should still make sure we are _ready _to deal with the ramifications of this before making any decisions."

Bourne nodded slowly. "I'm well aware of that, General Adamson."

The ticking of a time piece on the President's mantle piece seemed to make the time pass like an eternity. Bourne smiled again. "But we will not be the ones to light the fuse."

Bourne got up from his desk and moved over to a large chart of the Pacific Ocean sitting on a plotting table in the far corner of the room. Looking at the map for a few moments, he turned to the General. "Where is the Atlantis shakedown going to take her?"

The Chief of the Macronesian armed forces leaned over the table and looked at the map. He pointed to the Emperor Trough, just south of Aleutian Trench near the coast of Alaska. "Intelligence suggested to me that they are going to be headed here - south of the Bering Sea."

Bourne narrowed his eyes, examining the mp carefully – a predator, searching for his prey. In his first few years a President, he had left these decisions to his Generals, Admirals and strategists. But he learned his lessons the hard way; if you wanted something done correctly, you had to do it yourself. "Good. That would mean we need to draw them out…_here."_

Adamson, a man of military up bringing and a scholar of warfare, looked at the President in shock. "Mister President, that's just a mining community – they are _civilians._"

Bourne nodded. "For that matter, it's a _neutral _colony. The UEO holds no claim to it, nor do they defend it. They ceded it in 2035 after the colony declared independence"

"Attacking the colony will not necessarily draw out the Atlantis the way you intend, sir. Even if we did send a force of sufficient size to meet her, that alone would be enough to raise their suspicions to any possible attack. We can't expect to stand toe-to-toe with this 'ASV' and expect to win."

"Maybe not," said Bourne slowly. "But we don't _have_ to win."

The President traced his finger back along the Atlantis' projected path, and stopped; tapping his finger slowly, and _threateningly, _against the map.

Adamson realised what was being implied and nodded slowly, again, he said nothing, and let Bourne continue. "We've been looking for a way to kill the UEO for over 10 years, Henry… and now we have the chance. In a few days, seaQuest _and_ this new toy of theirs will be nothing more than bad memories… and we _will_ give the UEO that war that they want so very badly."


	2. Nintoku

**II**

**Nintoku**

**United Earth Oceans Pier 1, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 6th, 2040…**

"We're live in 5, 4, 3…" The reporter for CNN watched the on-site director give the last, silent countdown to when she was to begin. He gave the all clear, quietly pointing to her on her cue.

"I'm standing on Pier 1 of the United Earth Oceans Naval Base in Pearl Harbor. It came as a shock to the world today as the UEO unveiled a project that has been shrouded in more secrecy than any other in its thirty-year history; the UEO Atlantis Advanced Submergence Vehicle 8100.

Until today, the top secret military project has been a topic of much intrigue across the world's many intelligence agencies. Since 2035, rumours have been circulating about a so-called "DSV-2" program that the UEO had been developing to replace the aging seaQuest DSV. The Atlantis is believed by defence analysts to have cost upward of 30 _billion _dollars, cited by many to be the sole reason for the UEO's increasing foreign debt. While Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley and US President James Howard refused to give any comment, press information released by the White House say they have fully-backed the project.

Amidst all the secrecy surrounding the UEO's latest submarine, unnamed sources _have _released the name of the Atlantis' commander – Captain Mark Ainsley, a British national and 30-year veteran of the navy..."

…Sitting on the bridge of the Atlantis, which was actually not too far from the CNN journalist and her crew, Captain Ainsley watched the news report on the main bridge screen. He was against the idea of the UEO going public with the Atlantis, at least just yet. Even if they were not able to keep it a secret from the cameras, he didn't like having the finer details of his boat shared with every person on the planet. His new uniform was slightly uncomfortable, and he tried in vain to loosen the tight fitting undershirt collar. But despite that discomfort, Ainsley felt a certain air of pride being in command of the Atlantis. The new flagship of the UEO was a marvel of engineering, and the awe-struck faces of public onlookers as he had arrived at the docks earlier that day were a testament to it.

Atlantis had been moved from her berth in Aries under the cover of darkness to sit directly adjacent to the UEO's Pacific Headquarters on Pearl Harbor's channel entrance. It was so large that it almost made the headquarters look small.

Turning away from the screen, having heard enough from the rambling reporter, Ainsley looked at his first officer, James Banick, seated just in front of him. "Commander? What's our status?"

Banick looked down at his control consoles and read his report. "All systems are operational, sir. All crew are accounted for and all stations standing by. Pearl Harbor command has given us clearance for departure"

Ainsley nodded approvingly. In the days that had passed since his initial inspection of the new ship, he had met the rest of his senior staff. His tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Callaghan was the most senior of the new officers. He had been in the UEO for over ten years, and was a decorated officer of many campaigns. Ainsley's new communications officer however, a Junior-Grade Lieutenant by the name of Jack Phillips was practically fresh from the Academy, having been in active service for just over 12 months. He _had _however graduated first in his academy class, and it was a small fact that gave Ainsley a good deal of confidence in the man. The crew was drawn from the best and brightest of the UEO and all its member states. "Very well Commander," Ainsley paused for a moment, and then looked around the bridge. "Ok. All stations; report please."

"Helm. Go."

"Tactical. Go."

"Engines. Go."

"Science. Go."

Ainsley took note of everything as it came, simultaneously running through his own lists. "Very well. Helm this is the Conn. - Break away docking arms and braces. Harbour engines ahead one-half. Set course for Diamond Head. Steady as she goes."

Keeping her eyes on the Nav consoles in front of her, Commander Canebride responded to the order, relaying instructions to the other 3 helmsmen on the control deck below. "Helm, aye. Harbour engines answering ahead 6 knots, sir."

Ainsley turned to communications "Lieutenant Phillips? Get me Captain Hudson on the seaQuest."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Before long, the screen at the front of the bridge resolved into the face of Captain Oliver Hudson on board the bridge of the seaQuest. His bridge was busy, as usual, with officers shuffling back and forth, delivering reports and attending to their various duties. "Captain Hudson. We've broken dock. We should be on station in 20 minutes."

Hudson looked back at his bridge crew who were applauding lightly at the news of the Atlantis's launch. He turned back to face the view screen and smiled. "Congratulations, Captain; blue skies and clear horizons to you and your crew. We'll hold until you are at grid 772319."

"Thank you, Captain. We'll see you soon. Atlantis: out."

The view screen went blank; replaced one again by diagnostics displays of all the ship's systems. The split-level Bridge gave a nearly perfect view of everything that happened in the command center. It was a state of organised chaos; radio chatter sounded from nearly every workstation, officers walked quickly between rows of command and control benches. It seemed that there wasn't a single person on the entire Bridge staff who didn't have a task.

"Conn; Helm. We're making six knots over the bow, sir. We've cleared the first marker."

"Helm: Conn. Very good. Bring main drives online and take us to the second marker at your discretion."

Once more, Natalie Canebride repeated the order and gave her instructions to the helmsman. The Captain, satisfied, got up from his comfortable chair and began walking leisurely around the upper deck, casting his eye over everything that happened below before finally bringing his gaze to rest on a stairwell at the bridge's aft. "I'll be on the Conning tower. Miss Canebride, you have the Conn. Commander Banick? Commander Callaghan? Will you join me?"

"Of course, sir."

The trio of officers left the command deck and headed to the back of the bridge to the entrance to the retractable 'flying bridge.' One of the new features of the Atlantis class was the ability to deploy and retract a conning tower above the main bridge. The purpose of it served in the same manner as the older Seawolf and Los Angeles attack subs with their large and defining dorsal "fins" that sat over the submarine's bow. Simply put, it provided an observation point for officers when the submarine was running along the surface.

Clambering up the stairwell, Ainsley pulled himself out of the passage way to the deck of the observation tower high above the submarine. The wind on that particular day was more severe than he'd remembered in the forecast, but it didn't bother him as he took in a lung full of fresh air, and surveyed the Hawaiian horizons.

The Atlantis must have been making at least 20 knots over the surface of Diamond Head; the spray over the bow whipped into the windshield of the observation tower and spattered a fine mist over the officers behind it. Picking up his binoculars, Ainsley made another quick scan of the horizon, and the harbour entrance that was shrinking behind them. "So... Commander Callaghan…"

The Tactical officer looked at his Captain from his position a few feet away. "Yes sir?"

"What do you think of the new boat?"

Callaghan smiled apologetically. "She's impressive, sir. But I will be honest with you. I just don't see how a boat this big can be justified in the fleet. At what these things cost, we could put another man on Mars."

Ainsley laughed at that. "You could actually probably build an entire _base _on Mars, Commander. But these are desperate times..."

James Banick frowned, being thoroughly unconvinced. "…Forgive my candour, sir. But are you sure about that?"

Ainsley stopped, bringing the binoculars back down and sighing. Something hurt there and then – painful wounds that had been opened. 15 years of cold war with Macronesia had taken its toll, and he couldn't expect everyone else to understand it. "Jim, you and I have known each other for a few years… but… there are also a lot of things you still need to learn. There is nothing more I'd like than to find a diplomatic solution to this nightmare we're living in… but I don't think it's going to happen. It is best to be prepared for the worst, than to turn a blind eye to the clouds on the horizon and hope for the best. Ignorance is not always bliss."

Callaghan remained strangely silent for long moments, casting his eye over the horizon for a moment or two before clearing his throat. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"You just did," countered Ainsley with a smile. There was very little today that could dampen his good spirits. "But please, Commander… Do speak your mind."

"Well, I know that we've been briefed and trained to hell and back on how this sub operates… but in all that time, there was one thing they never told us."

"And what's that?"

"…How fast is this ship, sir?"

Ainsley exchanged a bemused smile with Banick. The UEO had kept the Atlantis' top speed highly classified, and the fact that the engines had been developed in part with NASA was officially denied by every contractor involved in the boat's development. "To be honest, we don't exactly know," confessed Ainsley. "In theory, she should be able to do 220 to 240 knots submerged before the oxygen extractors max-out."

Callaghan seemed a little shocked at that as he worked his jaw silently. seaQuest had a maximum rated top speed of nearly 200 knots. Atlantis – a ship that was over 8 times the mass of the seaQuest – was capable of effortlessly breaking that speed. "I see sir…" he said quietly. "Thank you, sir."

"Quite welcome, Commander."

Ainsley frowned as his PAL beeped from his belt, prompting him to unclip it and flick it open. "This is Ainsley. Go ahead."

It was Canebride. "Sir, we've cleared the second marker."

"Understood. What's the depth beneath the keel?"

"300 meters, sir."

Ainsley nodded. Atlantis was now clear to dive, and he wasted little time heading back to the stairwell. "Thank you, Commander, Secure the bridge and rig for dive."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Replacing the PAL on his belt, Ainsley looked at the horizon one last time. It would probably be some time before he saw the sky again. "Clear the bridge, Gentlemen."

Stepping back on to the command deck below, Ainsley resumed command of the Atlantis. "Captain has the Conn."

"Captain has the Conn. aye."

The three men resumed their seats and Ainsley looked at Canebride down at the helm. "Commander, take us to one-two-zero meters; 10 degrees down on the planes."

"Make my depth one-two-zero meters, aye sir; 10 degrees down bubble."

"Commander Banick? Sound dive stations."

"Sound Dive stations, aye."

Klaxon bells began blaring over the bridge as all over the Atlantis, water-tight hatches were sealed, and everything nonessential was secured away. As the cavernous ballast tanks opened, allowing thousands of tonnes of seawater inside, the arrow-head bow of the submarine begun to plough its way in to the waves, kicking up spray and producing a tidal wake not like any other. "All hands, this is the XO. Rig ship for dive!"

"Sir, Helm is answering 10 degrees down by the planes. My depth reads one-zero meters and falling."

Submarines did not belong on the surface – least of all the Atlantis, and as waves crashed over the decks of the ASV, the mighty submarine dove in to the dark abyss of the Pacific Ocean – finally finding itself at home. For a moment, it seemed that absolutely nothing could go wrong…

  

**Macronesian Fast Attack Submarine _Townsville_. 200 Kilometres west of Nintoku Colony. November 7th, 2040…**

Captain Lance Raymond was no stranger to having to wait. A Submariner's life was filled with long, drawn out hours of waiting. Assessing possible moves and actions, and acting accordingly. But pacing back and forth over the Conn of the Orion-class ANS Townsville, even he was beginning to lose patience. Earlier that day, his submarine had received a message from Macronesia's regional command in Zhanjiang, telling him to standby for new orders. He had now been waiting for those orders for 3 hours. Captain Raymond's command was not just limited to the Townsville though. Nearby, holding in formation around his submarine were 7 other identical vessels, all at his disposal. 8 Orion class submarines was a force large enough to blockade a small country, and he had absolutely no idea what orders could possibly call for the use of such force.

"Conn, Radio. We have an incoming ULF transmission from fleet command. They are broadcasting orders."

Raymond began heading to the radio room just behind the bridge and muttered under his breath. "And it's about bloody time, too…Commander Lewis? You have the Conn."

"Aye, sir,"

Walking aft, he turned and entered the radio room where the operator already had the message waiting quietly. The Radio operator quietly inquired, so as not to let any one else hear, as the Captain read the message. "Sir, is this… for real?"

The Captain nodded slowly and took a long, draw breath."I believe they are, Lieutenant… Carry on." With that, the captain headed back to the operations centre.

"Commander, I have the Conn."

"Aye, sir."

The XO stepped away from the Conn, and Captain Raymond resumed command of his Boat. "Helm, Conn. How far are we from the Nintoku sea ridge at best possible speed?"

"Approximately 2 hours, sir."

Raymond walked over to his chart table and ran a finger idly over the map as he ran numbers through his head on speeds, bearings and all manner of other navigational-math. "…Lay in a course, make turns for seven-zero knots."

"Aye, sir."

The boat's executive officer, Commander Lewis, approached Raymond from his post just a few feet across the Conn. "Sir…I don't know what our orders involve, but the Nintoku seamount is in neutral waters… She's an independent colony, Captain."

Raymond simply nodded grimly and handed the orders to his first officer. The Commander began reading them under his breath. "To the attention of Captain Lance Raymond… Nintoku colony… Seek to draw out and…"

The commander looked up as the full weight of the message hit home. "…seaQuest."

"Orders are orders, Commander Lewis. And orders - especially of this nature - are not open to interpretation."

"Of course, sir."

  

**UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. 'Emperor' Seamount chain. ** **November 7th, 2040…**

Lieutenant Jane Roberts lay flat on her belly with her feet hanging out the port engine nozzle of her SF-37/E Raptor sub fighter. Roberts was of only slight build, being Japanese by her mother's side of the family, so fitting in the confined space was not a big issue. Her father had been an American naval aviator based in Tokyo, and her name was enough to bring up quite a few questions from those who didn't know her too well. What sort of a Japanese name was "Jane Roberts"? The short answer was easy; it wasn't. Her parents had been immensely upset when she'd joined the UEO's Cape Cortez Subfighter academy, but she knew deep down that it was only because of their concern for her well-being. Being a subfighter pilot was not the safest of jobs in the world, and she knew that her parents didn't see her as a failure in the slightest. They were proud of her, and they always would be. She'd risen through the ranks of the subfighter corps to become an extremely respected pilot, and this had been her reward; the position of executive officer in what was considered the most elite squadron of pilots in the UEO - the VF-107 Rapiers - aboard the most prestigious ship in the fleet.

The Raptors were a new addition to the UEO Navy designed primarily to complement the new ASVs. They had a much higher top speed and took a radical departure in design from the previous Spectre class fighters that now filled the ranks of the UEO Fleet. In time, the Raptor would probably replace the Spectre entirely. No expense was spared in their design, and they were arguably one of the most lethal fighters beneath the waves... Yet, despite all the money and resources that had gone in to developing the Raptor, she and a crew of engineers had spent the entire afternoon trying to work out why the Fighter's engines kept ignoring their own governing, and revved themselves to the point of virtual self destruction whenever she pushed her throttles to the stops. It didn't matter how many systems they dissected, it didn't seem to solve a thing. It was beginning to become an irritation.

"Ok, try that," she said to the chief technician as she clambered out of the engine assembly after tuning several component's within the engine's aqua-ducts.

The techs all moved back from the Raptor as the chief began starting up the engine. Slowly, it came to full power with a high-pitched whine, and Roberts watched and slowly walked around the fighter, being careful not to step too close to the intakes or the flaring turbines. "Sounds good, take it to fifty-five"

The engineer obediently increased the power on the engine and it began roaring to life, causing the deck to vibrate ever-so-slightly beneath their feet. "I think we've done-"

She was cut short when, with a mighty, echoing 'boom', a black plume of smoke and shrapnel shot out the back of the engine and it began a sickening whine of death as the engine's fan blades and turbine assembly beat themselves to death. She grimaced painfully at the sight of her fighter killing itself before her. "Oh _no... _Shut it down!"

The engineer cut the power to the subfighter's engine and walked around to the back of the fighter, and reaching into the nozzle, ripped out about 5 meters of shredded power cable conduits, followed by numerous shattered fan blades. He then turned to Roberts. "Well Lieutenant, it looks like we found the problem. Seems like the electrical systems in the coolant ducts were shot, they must have kept losing power, and the electromagnets overheated_…oh…_and I'm afraid you need a new engine."

The engineer grimaced as he pulled out more shattered fan blades and shattered turbine shafts from the rear of the engine. He shrugged and tossed them on the deck in defeat.

"Damn it. When can you have it repaired?"

The engineer shook his head. "I didn't realise the fault was that bad. Had I known this was the problem, I could have done something right now… but… I think we actually just managed to do the worst of it right then when we… urrm..." the Chief scratched his head, trying to think of the appropriate words. "Well, we turned the entire engine inside out… literally. If that engine damaged the reactor when it blew…"

"Chief? English."

"Anywhere up to a week."

Roberts sighed. There was no point in crying over spilt milk. While the Squadron maintained reserve fighters, she hated having to fly the things. They simply never felt _right._ "Ok. Well…thanks for your help Chief, take your time with the repairs. I won't need her any time soon."

The chief gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I'll give you the best damned fighter on the whole boat."

She winked at him before turning away to leave the flight deck, wiping off her hands with a rag that had been hanging from her belt, before tossing it aside. "Thanks chief."

Walking in to the corridor outside the hangar, the worst of her day hadn't even begun. Turning around the corner, and without warning, she walked straight into another officer who happened to be carrying a mug of coffee. The dark liquid went straight down the man's uniform and she looked down at the coffee mug that clattered across the deck in shock. Looking up again, she immediately realised who it was whom she'd just ran in to.

"Oh my god! Commander! I'm so sorry. Let me help you…"

Wing Commander Gabriel Hitchcock was sitting on the floor, looking decidedly stunned. He took Robert's hand, getting to his feet and brushing himself down with the now-empty mug in an open hand. "Well that's one way to start the day, Jane" he said to her with a helpless grin.

"I am _so _sorry, sir. I just wasn't even paying attention…"

"Something on your mind?" he asked, futilely trying to wring out his uniform. He'd known Roberts for several months after having put her and a select group of other pilots through an intensive training course for the SF-37. He had since chosen the Lieutenant to be his executive officer in the Rapiers.

"Well, yes sir. My Raptor just sort of… self destructed."

The Wing Commander opened his mouth to say something, before realising what she said and looking at her with a degree of incredibility. "…So _that's _what the noise was… I think I heard it from down the hall."

"Sorry sir," she said again, still not believing what she'd done.

"Well… I'll leave you to it, Lieutenant… I'd better get changed."

Hitchcock nodded curtly as he wiped his hands on the back of his trousers, excusing himself as he continued down the hall.

Robert's reply of a muted 'yes sir' was barely audible as the Commander disappeared. She gritted her teeth, sighing as she continued her walk towards the fighter command center. This was going to be a very bad day.

  

Captain Ainsley walked down the long corridors of the Atlantis on his way to the Engine room. Normally, the trip wouldn't take that long as Atlantis was designed with a system called Mag-Lev. The Magnetically-Levitated train system was effectively a horizontal elevator that travels at high speeds to the front and aft of the boat. The Captain was disappointed when he heard that is had not yet been installed. It made the near-500 meter long walk from the bridge to Engineering quite tiresome. Ainsley would not be surprised in the slightest if the 250-odd Marines who were based aboard the Atlantis turned in to a regular fitness routine.

Finally reaching engineering, he walked into the reactor room. In the middle of the room, glowing eerily behind its support frames and coolant systems, the Atlantis' fusion core stretched for many decks above and below Engineering's main level. The fusion was the cleanest, most efficient power source ever created. Since the 2020s, the technology had become wide-spread throughout the world's developed navies, replacing fission cores entirely. Ainsley looked around the engine room, surprised to see that it was practically vacant; the man he was looking for nowhere to be seen. "Chief?" he called out, looking around at the various alcoves, access ways and maintenance tunnels that were strewn about the engine room.

A clattering came from one of the maintenance ducts, and Chief Petty Edward Stevens emerged, looking around for the source of the summoning. He smiled as he saw the Captain standing on the other side of the room. "Yeah, Captain? What brings you down my end of the world?"

Ainsley walked over to his chief engineer and rested a hand on the boundary railing between the deck and the reactor, overlooking the platform Stevens occupied. "Chief, I needed to speak with you about the power systems."

The engineer brushed his hands off and stood up after crawling out of the small maintenance shaft. He nodded his head, clearly already aware of it. "Yeah, I know. I don't think there's been a single department on this boat that hasn't complained to me in the past hour."

Ever since the Atlantis had left Pearl Harbor, the boat's power systems had behaving strangely to say the least. Every now and, then, power across crew quarters and other auxiliary systems would fail, causing havoc with whoever was working in the affected areas. It wasn't critically important as long as it didn't interfere with the ship's operations, but it was becoming more than just a mild annoyance. "I was just working on it, Captain," explained the Engineer. "I think the problem is somewhere in one of the sensor control junctions. Now, I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with the sonar arrays, but even so… they can often wire the power systems through some very unusual places, sir. It just so happens that the junction in question is in a place that I can't get to without getting wet."

"…Wet?" asked Ainsley, giving the Engineer a very queer look.

"Yes sir. You know? Water? H2O? It's wet. I'd have to go swimming through about 200 meters of aqua-ducts to reach the problem... I'd assign send someone else to do it, but… well, as you can see I'm a little short-handed."

"Who the hell authorized these shift rosters?" asked Ainsley, looking around the empty engine room again.

"Well, there's that, sir… But most of my reactor technicians don't arrive till next Tuesday, so I don't have a full staff. I'm doing what I can from here."

Ainsley smiled, sympathising with Steven's situation. He wasn't the only one having problems with post-commissioning hassles. There were many staff that still had to report for duty, and at that moment, Atlantis barely had half of her normal 1,050 crew aboard. "I know the feeling, Chief. There's always _something,_ isn't there?"

The Engineer shook his head with a sigh, looking exhausted enough that he didn't see the humour in the observation. _"Always._ There is _always_ one little thing they miss when inspecting the boat. Don't worry captain, Ill get it fixed for you."

Ainsley slapped the engineer on the shoulder as he pulled himself from the maintenance pit. "Glad to hear it… On another note, I understand that you-"

"_All hands, this is the XO. Yellow alert - man duty stations! Captain, Report to the Bridge!"_

Alert Klaxons began rang from above, and Ainsley was already turning and walking quickly for the doors, wasting no time to even question what was going on. "We'll finish this later Chief!"

Ainsley ran the distance from Engineering to the Bridge in a minute flat and found him self struggling to catch his breath. Had this been a physical fitness test, he would have passed with honours. The Bridge was chaos as officers reported to their stations and began to put the Atlantis to full battle readiness. The big clamshell doors began closing behind him to the sound of warning bells as the last of the staff sprinted through them and headed to their stations. "Commander Banick? SITREP, please."

The XO looked up from his station, his face extremely dead-pan. "Sir, we just received a general distress call from the Nintoku mining colony. They report being under attack from a squadron of Macronesian Fast Attack Submarines... Possibly _Orion _class."

Ainsley resumed his seat and turned to tactical. "Commander Callaghan, What's our distance to the Colony?"

"50 nautical miles, Captain. We're the closest ship from _any_ confederation, sir. And they _are _in international waters."

Ainsley nodded thought carefully. Under international maritime law, a general distress call could _not _be ignored, and the UEO charter was even more specific about it. And yet, Atlantis was not even a day old – she didn't have a full crew, a full weapons load-out, and was no where near ready for a fire fight. "Lieutenant Phillips, Get me Captain Hudson on the seaQuest... red-level priority."

"Aye, sir."

Only seconds later, the bridge's main screen resolved to the image of Hudson on the bridge of the seaQuest DSV. Lieutenant Phillips had done his work fast. "Captain Hudson, what's seaQuest's status?"

Hudson's bridge was a state of organized chaos. Ainsley didn't have to ask to know that seaQuest had also received the distress call. Hudson looked immensely displeased. "We're still about an hour from your position, Captain. It will take us even longer to get to the colony. We're on our way at best speed... But I don't think it's going to be enough."

Ainsley nodded solemnly - that meant that the Atlantis was – despite her lack of preparedness – was the colony's only prayer. "Understood, Captain. We'll take care of it. Our ETA is a little over 15 minutes."

"Good luck, Captain."

Nothing further was said, and the screen returned to a detailed 3D map that showed the colony's location in relation to the Atlantis. "Helm, lay in a course for the Nintoku colony. Take us to two-two-zero knots and…"

Banick and several other officers on the bridge looked at the captain in concern. "Sir, with all due respect, two hundred knots exceeds the tested limit of the engines. We haven't even run them to one-fifty."

Ainsley looked at his executive officer with stern, silent warning. He knew the limits of his submarine, and didn't need to be reminded in a situation like this. Atlantis had been designed with speed in mind; she was the transitional stage between a conventional submarine and a full-blown super-cavitating warship. While the ASV did not, and _could not _super-cavitate, her top speed was still reckoned to be well over the 200-knot barrier. "Commander, I'm quite aware of my own ship's limitations, and do _not _need to be reminded of them." Ainsley paused, noticing Banick's sudden tension. "Commander Canebride…" he said; the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Bring all engines online and take us to two-two-zero knots... Warp one – _Engage."_

Several officers on the bridge failed to stifle their laughter, and Banick looked somewhat concerned, giving his Captain a very wary, open-mouthed expression of distress. Ainsley simply cracked his fingers, looking around the pristine bridge with a boyish smile that simply didn't suit him. "…I've always wanted to say that..."

  

**Nintoku Colony. Macronesian Fast Attack Submarine _Townsville_. ** **November 7th, 2040…**

Captain Raymond gave the order. "Weapons; Conn. Reload tubes one-through-six."

"Conn; fire control. Reload tubes one-through-six, aye."

Raymond patiently paced back and forth, looking at his watch to keep track of time. He had little doubt that Atlantis was on her way, but he saw no need to use _excessive _force against the colony. In truth, it was tactically wiser to conserve as many of his torpedoes as possible for when the Atlantis arrived.

From the limited intelligence the Alliance had on the new UEO super-sub, he knew it was larger and undoubtedly more heavily armed than the seaQuest and there was very little in the Alliance that could hold its own against that kind of firepower.

For years, seaQuest had grown an almost infamous reputation throughout Macronesia. She was a weapon of unimaginable power, and the UEO knew it only too well. Whenever a Macronesian ship _had _come to blows with her, they walked away with a lot more than just a bloody-nose, and in some cases didn't 'walk away' at all!

It pained him that Alliance Central Command had obviously not learned from past lessons, and were once again preparing to come to blows with the UEO's best in what could only be described as a suicide mission. In reality, his force of 8 SSNs didn't have any real hope of defeating the Atlantis at _all._

"Conn, Sonar. I have a new contact Bearing zero-eight-five… she's closing sir. Speed: two-one-seven knots. Definitely a submarine… and she's a big one."

Raymond nodded. "Contact's ETA?"

The Sonar operator's sweat covered betrayed his nervousness. "5 minutes, captain. Still no positive identification."

Raymond rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He new exactly what the contact was. It was moving at nearly two hundred and twenty knots and was making a lot of noise; probably a scare tactic. It had to be the Atlantis. "Understood: Designate contact as master five."

"Aye, sir."

Raymond let out a long, slow breath, looking at his watch again and taking note of the time. In 5 minutes, he'd meet his adversary, and the games would begin. He didn't know exactly what to expect, as he had never been in a situation quite like this before, but he was taking no chances. "Fire Control, Conn. Open the outer doors on tubes 1 and 2. Match previous firing solutions with the colony again."

"Fire control, aye."

Raymond counted down the seconds. Timing was everything, and Commander Lewis looked to him, waiting for the next order. "Sir?"

"Patient, Commander…"

Seconds turned to minutes, and tension turned to an almost unbearable agony. Sweat formed on his brow. He had to reel them in, and fast. "Fire control, Conn. Fire tubes one and two."

"Fire tubes one and two aye sir."

The shriek of the two torpedoes bursting out of their tubes and towards the mining colony was heard throughout the entire submarine. For the colonists, it was the sound of death. Defenceless and completely at the mercy of the Orions, all they could do was die. "Conn: fire control. Torpedoes have gone active: Running hot straight and normal. Time to impact: 35 seconds."

Raymond nodded in approval. 35 seconds… it was perfect.

"Conn, Sonar! Master five has decelerated. Positive identification, sir… She's here."

...On the battle-readied bridge of the Atlantis, Captain Ainsley had watched grimly as the Macronesian submarines had fired yet another salvo of torpedoes at the colony. Time was no longer something he had. "Commander, can you destroy those torpedoes?

"I believe so, sir… I have shooting solutions plotted… Firing intercepts."

A series of torpedoes shot out from the Atlantis' bow tubes with tiny sonic booms in their wake, as their plasma-burning engines ignited and quickly accelerated the weapons to nearly 200 knots. Under the guidance of the Atlantis's hypersonars, the intercept torpedoes homed in on the Macronesian torpedoes and exploded – taking the enemy weapons with them, and saving the colony from further harm.

"Mister Callaghan, can you identify that sub?" asked Ainsley, examining the streams of information that poured out of the ASV's databanks from the sensors.

"Aye sir. Her acoustic profile is an exact match with the _Townsville. _Registered out of Brisbane under Alliance military command."

"So… She's definitely military?"

"She's certainly not a mercenary, sir. This is the real deal."

Ainsley's lip curled in a disgusted snarl. Whenever the UEO had come to blows with Macronesia, it had only really been with pirates or privateers flying the Alliance flag. _Never _had Macronesia gone out of its way to use military forces in this way. It was appalling. "Communications - get me the Townsville… _now."_

Lieutenant Phillips began punching in commands to his station. "Channel open, sir."

"ANS Townsville - this is Captain Mark Ainsley of the United Earth Ocean's naval vessel Atlantis. Your attack on this station is in direct violation of established international law. Stand down now and be prepared to surrender, or we _will _be left with no alternative but to use force."

The Bridge screen now showed the impassive face of a Macronesian Captain. Behind him, the bridge of his Orion-class Attack Submarine looked as if it were in a state of chaos. Judging by the panic-stricken faces of the tactical officer's faces, he guessed they had just read their sensor returns on just how much firepower the Atlantis had pointed at them. The Captain however did not look fussed in the slightest. "Captain Ainsley, as of this moment, your vessel is interfering with a Macronesian affair. We do not recognise any UEO political or military ties with the Nintoku seamount, and we will consider _your _intrusion an act of aggression if you do not withdraw immediately."

Ainsley looked cautiously off to Callaghan at tactical, searching for any indication that the Alliance commander was bluffing. Callaghan looked grim as he shook his head, mouthing the word 'Painted'. If the Orions were actually willing to fire on the Atlantis, then there was a big problem, and yet, all Ainsley could do was respond in kind. "Captain… let me ask you something. I do not know what it is your orders entail, but are you really willing to start a _war _with the UEO over a neutral mining station?"

The Alliance commander didn't flinch. Either he was exceptionally good at poker, or he wasn't bluffing. "The question is, Captain Ainsley… are _you? _You have been warned, Atlantis. The decision is yours."

Abruptly, the Alliance commander ended the transmission, and the screen went blank, leaving Ainsley staring at it in silence. The arrogance of the Alliance captain was going to get a lot of people killed. "Sir, the Orions have opened their tubes! They are painting us!"

Ainsley nodded grimly and let him self fall back in to the chair. "Helm, Put us between the Macronesian submarines and the colony _right now_. Tactical, load all tubes. Plasma torpedoes to fifty percent charge."

"Aye, Captain. Loading all tubes, plasma warheads to 50 percent charge."

Banick looked worriedly at his Captain. "Sir…?"

"We only want to stop them, Commander. Not destroy them."

Ainsley looked back to Commander Callaghan at tactical. "Fire Control: match sensor bearings for tubes one through six and acquire shooting solutions. But open _all_ outer doors."

"Aye, sir."

Ainsley had no intention of destroying the Macronesian submarines and purposely starting a war by doing so… Even though he feared that it might be exactly what he got out of it. But the power of 'suggestion' was a potent tool, and he intended to use it.

The Atlantis had 24 Rapid Firing, Independently Targeting (RAFIT) torpedo batteries. Each 'battery' was in fact a cluster of six torpedo tubes that acted more as a gatling gun. While the prepared tubes could be fired, the others could reload simultaneously, and it gave the Atlantis an almost limitless rate of fire. It was a sobering thought, but he didn't have time to dwell on such matters.

"Sir! We have a dozen torpedoes in the water, dead ahead! Time to impact: 20 seconds."

"Fire intercepts. Stand by for collisions."

Again, the Atlantis fired her intercept torpedoes; the screams of the plasma engines being heard throughout the bridge as the weapons tore through the water to find and destroy the incoming Macronesian torpedoes. For the most part, they did.

Callaghan looked at Ainsley, his eyes cold. "10 seconds," he warned. "Intercepts have found marks, but four got through!"

Ainsley gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable but remaining calm. "Sound collision alarm. Brace for impacts."

Bells rang noisily on the bridge as red warning lamps cast long, bloody shadows over the deck. The big clam shell doors were still shut, but their heavy locks quickly sealed them with a jarring "thunk" and a hiss from the seals around the door's edges pressurizing. The PA system was heard across the ship as watertight bulkheads slammed shut, and the crew evacuated the outer hull. "All hands, Collision alert! _Brace! Brace! Brace!"_

Ainsley, Callaghan and the rest of the bridge staff silently counted down the seconds for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the inevitable jarring shock of the imminent explosions…

…The four remaining torpedoes fired from the Alliance subs homed in on the huge Atlantis and slammed her hull. The biological skin of the Atlantis's outer hull tore apart as the titanium plating beneath it burst open under nearly 1000 pounds of concussive explosive from each torpedo. Frame work was ripped apart, and bulkheads collapsed, opening portions of the big UEO sub's hull to the cold sea outside.

The deafening explosion on the bridge and jarring concussions sent some crew to the deck and the Captain was racked heavily in his chair, held where he was by his restraints. Over and over again, the deck shook and lights flickered as the torpedos struck home one-by-one. _"Damage report!"_

Commander Banick's hand instinctively hit several controls on his command console; his face a contorted grimace. "We have hull breaches on decks A, B and D in sections 5 through 18. We're taking on water. Casualties are unknown."

A prayer of thanks raced through Ainsley's mind. For the most part, he was amazed his Submarine had held together so well. So far, the Atlantis was proving her worth. "Seal off those sections… Alert engineering and send out damage control crews."

"Aye sir."

Ainsley looked around his rattle bridge, noticing his crew had largely recovered, with a few of the most junior officers looked absolutely petrified with fright. The Macronesians, for all intents and purposes, had just declared war on his submarine… and he was more than happy to oblige them. "It looks like they don't want to play nicely," he said loudly enough so his crew knew he was at least ways still capable of thinking clearly. "Tactical… Do you have shooting solutions?"

"Yes sir. Shooting solutions for all tubes and torpedoes have been plotted."

"Fire tubes one through six; 3 torpedoes a-piece. Set plasma charges on tubes seven through eighteen to 100 percent charge."

"Fire Control, Aye… Firing tubes one through six."

With another shriek that echoed throughout the sea, streams of torpedoes bursting out of the Atlantis's hull in a furious response against the out the eight Macronesian Orions sped away in to the darkness. The vengeful ASV knew no mercy, and mercy was the one thing the Orions were not going to receive…

  

**75 Nautical Miles east of the Nintoku seamount - UEO seaQuest DSV 4600. November 7th, 2040…**

"Henderson! I need everything you can give me from those engines!" barked Oliver Hudson impatiently from the Conn. seaQuest was now making about 203 knots – over 20 knots faster than her sea trial-rated speed of an appreciable 180 knots, and it still wasn't enough. 75 miles away, engaged in battle against 8 Macronesian Fast Attack Submarines, was the Atlantis ASV. Hudson had never felt so utterly useless.

"Captain!" said the sensor chief with alarm. "I've just picked up new contacts bearing zero-two-zero and three-four-zero dead ahead… Range… 20 miles."

Hudson stopped at that. Twenty miles? seaQuest was capable of picking up other submarines that were over 100 miles away. How had they gotten so close? "Where the hell did _they _come from?"

"They were hiding in a rift valley sir," explained the sonar technician. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear they were waiting for us."

"Great…" said Hudson gruffly. "They've got us right where the want us… God _damn _it! Helm? Decrease speed to fifty knots and bring us in slowly. If we can avoid I fight, I want to."

"Yes sir. Decreasing speed to fifty knots."

"Commander Henderson, give me everything you've got on our friends out there," he instructed while walking to the chart dome in the center of the bridge's lower deck.

Commander Lenore "Lonnie" Henderson, seaQuest's XO, had been on seaQuest for many years, and had replaced Commander Ford as the boat's executive officer when Ford had elected to take a command elsewhere in the fleet. She walked over from her station at Ops with a PDA in-hand to join Hudson at the Nav charts. "2 full attack wings of Lysander class subfighters, and 6 Dragna class strike cruisers," she read grimly. "That's a lot of firepower to be coincidental, sir. They knew we were coming."

It wasn't possible, was it? A thousand questions raced through Hudson's mind. Was this really a trap? "…Communications…" he said finally, following a long, hesitant pause. "Hail one of their cruisers. I don't care which one; just do it."

"I've been _trying _sir," replied the Ensign in question. "They refuse to answer our challenges. They've ignored us three times already."

"Then keep trying!" urged Hudson impatiently. He now had just two options; fight or flight. And given the stakes, he was hardly one to run from such a situation. If the Macs wanted a fight, he would me most happy to oblige them. "Mister Proudmoore, give me shooting solutions on their lead Dragnas."

"Aye sir."

Hudson looked at the virtual chart dome, watching as the Macronesian vessels quickly closed with the seaQuest. In just a few minutes, they would be virtually on top of him. What concerned him even more was the dauntingly large group of Lysander class Subfighters that were approaching at nearly 300 knots. Two full squadrons – 20 fighters – were bearing down on him. And the seaQuest had less than a third of that number in Spectres. The six Spectres that were housed in the hydrosphere had almost no chance of holding them off, and yet he had little choice… Pulling out his PAL, he keyed in several orders and took a deep, hesitant breath. "Hudson to Lieutenant Commander Roderick…"

…Further aft aboard the DSV, Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick was already running in full flight gear to the sea deck. Irish by birth, and having grown up in Dublin, he had no real reason to fight the Macronesians. But then, he _was_ Irish… what reason did he need? His family's history was certainly not a military one. His father ran a quiet hotel south of Dublin, and his mother was a musician. Only he and his sister had joined the Navy, and it had been to the vehement objections of their parents. He and his sister were both fighter pilots… but her fortunes had been significantly more prosperous than his own, and while only a year older than he was, she had managed to rise to the rank of a full Wing Commander – the youngest pilot to ever achieve the lofty position. He had just finished pulling his gloves on when Captain Hudson's voice came from his PAL. Unclipping the device, he didn't pause to dwell on it too much. "Go ahead, Captain."

"Commander, we need you and your pilots in the water... _now."_

"I'm already on it, Captain," said the Irishman, nodding curtly to a group of engineering technicians who were busily preparing the EVA decks for combat. "How bad is it, sir?" he asked Hudson, still not pausing.

"It's bad. 2 full squadrons of Lysanders supported by about half a dozen Dragna cruisers by current count."

An icepick pierced Roderick's gut as he stopped just short of the number 3 airlock which led to his Spectre in the moonpools below. He had a very bad feeling that that Spectre would soon become is tomb. "I understand, sir. ROE?"

"Fire only if fired upon first. We don't want a war here, Commander… but likewise, we aren't going to idly sit by as our backside is filled with torpedoes."

"Yes sir."

"…And Commander? Good luck."

Hesitation laced Hudson's voice, and it served little more than to make Roderick nervous. He breathed deeply as he closed the PAL, turning to face the 5 other pilots who had gathered behind him. "Well, lads… Things are about to get dicey..."

…Hudson watched with gritted teeth as the Dragna cruisers and their escorts grew ever closer on the navigational displays. The seaQuest was heavily armed; much more so than any other ship in the UEO fleet, but even he doubted whether or not she could hold off half a dozen of Macronesia's front-line cruisers. The only chance she had was a narrow, yet deep ravine just a few nautical miles ahead. Whether seaQuest could get there in time however was another matter. If she did, then the submarine could simply make a plunging crash-dive to the bottom of the valley, well beyond the reach of the Macronesian subs. But if not… then Hudson and his crew would have one hell of a fight on their hands. "Helm… Plot a course on heading two-nine-zero. Make your depth six-three-three-zero feet."

"…Sir, that's… eighty feet above bedrock," remarked the chief helmsman with well-founded concern. "If there is something down there that we can't-"

"Your objection is noted, Helm. Just do it. What's the fastest you can get us in to the Ballard trench?"

"The Ballard trench sir? Well, at the depth you just asked… I'm not even going to try for faster than seventy knots, sir. Seven minutes."

"Tactical; how long until those Dragnas have us?"

There was a moment of silence on the DSV's bridge as Hudson asked the question, and everyone's eyes locked on to the weapons officer. Nothing but the quiet pinging of hypersonar and sensor returns could be heard over the heavy silence. Hudson did not flinch, and asked the question again. "Lieutenant. _How long?"_

"…Four minutes, sir."

"Then we'll make this a running gun. Helm… Make for the trench. Tactical, do you have shooting solutions on the cruisers?"

"Aye. Tubes one through nine are loaded and firing solutions have been relayed."

"Good. EVA? Get our Speeders in to the water to helm out those Spectres."

...Outside the seaQuest, half a dozen UEO SF-2/A Spectre Subfighters dived and rolled through to a wide delta formation in the cold darkness, illuminated only by their floodlights and navigating almost entirely on instinct. Ahead - speeding toward them at nearly 300 knots - were over three times their number in Macronesian Lysanders.

"seaQuest, this is Spectre 1, we've got that trench of yours looking real sweet up here. Still can't give you a visual on it, but there's about two dozen Mac Lysanders that look like they're going to cut you off… Captain, sir we really need clearance to engage…"

…Despite his growing urgency to take action, Captain Hudson hesitated. The Macronesians had not yet fired. Why? They had been in torpedo range for over 8 minutes, and the seaQuest – a submarine of a thousand feet long - was not exactly the most difficult target in the seas to hit. "Standby, Spectre 1…"

Hudson walked back over to the chart dome, carefully but quickly assessing the approaching Macronesian cruisers again, looking for _anything _that would give him reason to act. "Tactical… can you give me _any thing at all _on those Dragnas besides their position, speed and formation?"

"No sir. They've had shooting solutions on us for 7 minutes and 13 seconds, but they still have _not _opened their doors."

"To hell with it," said Hudson, finally steeling himself. "I'm not about to give these bastards a chance to fill my submarine full of holes. Spectre 1, this is seaQuest… You are cleared to engage."

"…Aye, aye!" said Roderick with a grim smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are weapons free. You are clear to engage!"

The Spectres broke out of their tight delta formation, rolling away to close directly on the Lysanders ahead. Outnumbered three to one, it was a gutsy – even stupid – move. But Roderick's wing had no intention of fighting the Lysanders muzzle-to-muzzle, they only had to draw the Lysanders out and give the seaQuest enough time to escape in to the Ballard trench, and _that_ could be arranged. "Spectre 2, you're on my wing. Form up and cover me. Let's see if we can rattle them a little…"

"Aye sir."

The tension on the bridge of the seaQuest exploded in an instant as a shrill alarm pierced the air from the tactical station. "Sir! Torpedoes in the water, bearing zero-three-zero!"

"Damn it!" exclaimed Hudson. "Who fired?"

"The lead Dragna, sir!"

"Get locks on those weapons and fire intercepts. Helm, get us in to that trench!"

"Contact in 1 minute, fifteen seconds, sir."

As seaQuest drew nearer to the trench ahead, a screech of igniting plasma sounded the firing of half a dozen intercept torpedoes. Ahead of them; the Macronesian weapons continued at a daunting pace towards the much larger DSV. The Dragna cruisers themselves however had slowed to a crawl, and seemed to be uninterested in coming any closer.

Not far from this action, Commander Roderick was sitting close on the tail of an Alliance subfighter, his thumb gradually tightening its pressure on the yolk and the firing trigger. He watched his HUD go red and give him a solid tone as his Spectre's pulse lasers locked on to the Lysander. The Macronesian, undoubtedly receiving fair warning from his own fighter's computer tried to break away out of Roderick's line of fire, but to no avail. The Spectre's hypersonars kept their lock, and the UEO pilot's fighter spewed bolts of laser cannon fire across the Lysander's tail. Several of the hits landed squarely on the Lysander's split-tail, several missed, lashing past it and leaving long, blackened graces against its fuselage. But the last hits put the fighter out of its misery as it finally gave way under the bombardment, and the high pressure of the water around it. Black oil vomited from the fighter's engines before they exploded, followed soon after by the nose, and the pilot within. Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick had just taken the first kill of the war. "Scratch one Bandit," he said quietly in to his radio. "All fighters, be advised… seaQuest is making for the trench. Cover her for as long as you can."

"Understood, lead."

The Spectres broke hard on to their sides, spiralling downward towards the sea floor far below. In their wake, Macronesian Lysanders met them pace-for-pace, raking the sea with a torrential rain of pulse laser and subduction cannon fire. One of the UEO fighters was hit dead-center by one of the pursuing Lysander's subduction shots, and its fuselage broke apart like wet tissue as the molecular bonds of the alloys and composites that made up the hull broke down. The fighter's sudden deceleration only made the Lysander's fire more effective as a line of laser fire tore up the Spectre's centreline and incinerated the cockpit. The pilot was killed instantly.

"Spectre three!" called Roderick over the radio frantically. "Spectre three, report." It was a stupid question of course. The pilot hadn't ejected, and Roderick had seen only too clearly how the Lysander's guns had ripped through the nose of the fighter. "Damn it! All fighters, this is lead… take evasive action, watch each others backs out here!"

Captain Hudson watched with dismay as the Spectre disappeared from the tactical display. The inevitable, unforgiving math of fate that was stacked against the fighter squadron was beginning to play out in its lethal equation. At three-for-one odds he had to expect casualties. His only hope was that those few casualties would not turn in to a total slaughter. _"Damn…" _he whispered quietly. Another shrill alarm from the tactical station was enough to bring his attention around once again.

"Captain… We've got at least a dozen torpedoes in the water! The Dragnas have fired again!"

"Take evasive action, Mister Lewis. Are we over that trench yet?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" exclaimed Hudson with growing exasperation. "Commander Henderson… Sound crash dive!"

"Aye, Captain."

Instinctively, Commander Henderson reached for her command key, and slapped it in to her control station in one, swift move, turning it, and then releasing the safety on the master alarm. Bells began ringing throughout the ship and watertight doors began to close. "This is the XO… All decks rig for crash dive!"

Hudson made a point of sitting down as he watched the bridge secure around him. "Helm; full down on the bow planes. Open all ballast tanks and take us to the bottom."

"Helm, aye."

…The Macronesian torpedoes got closer as seaQuest plunged downward almost uncontrollably, air erupting from her ballast tanks all the way. The torpedoes did their best to keep up with the falling submarine, and detonated just a few dozen yards from her hull in big white novas of plasma fire and vaporized water. The DSV was rattled heavily by the detonations as it fell; the shockwaves beating against the titanium hull plating and organic bioskin.

Not far away however, another of Roderick's Spectre's luck ran out as a Lysander delivered the final blow to the already-damage fighter, and virtually cut it in half with its pulse lasers. Nature did the rest as the torn hull was blown asunder from the near 3000 PSI pressure of the deep, dark sea beyond. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" yelled Roderick, watching the fiery death of another of his pilots. "All remaining fighters and speeders… pair up and try and break apart those Lysander squadrons."

"Sir, if we take them head on, we're as good as dead!" protested one of the other pilots.

"We'll last longer than we will by running from the bastards! Now _do _it! Draw them in to the trench and take out as many of them as you can!"

The Commander decided that in this case, leading by example was probably the best way he could rally his pilots. He wasn't prepared to lead his men in to a slaughter, and would not ask them to do anything that he would not. Perhaps it _was_ suicide, but at least they wouldn't be dying by running away. Snap-rolling his Spectre up on to its starboard side, he narrowly avoided a barrage of laser fire that vaporised the water in his wake and went straight down in to a cork-screw dive towards the trench and the seaQuest below. At a comfortable combat speed of 120 knots, his Spectre rapidly shot past the huge hull of the UEO flagship and plunged in to the darkness of the trench before him.

…But deep within the trench, unseen through the darkness and not stirring from its quiet and eerie lair, something else lay in wait. For a moment, its sharp and lethal form seemed to shimmer, blending in with the sea walls on either side.

Above it, seaQuest and her fighter escorts blindly continued their plunge in to the abyss, totally unaware of what was waiting for them; believing that they would find clemency and sanctuary in the cold depths of the trench. Roderick was one who held those hopes as his last chance to at the very least make a hasty escape from the Macronesian fighters above. And as his Spectre continued to dive in to the netherworlds of the sea, he allowed himself to relax as he watched the range between himself and the pursuing Lysanders grow to an ever increasing figure. 700 yards… 800 yards… 900 yards. He looked over his shoulder to watch the welcoming azure blue light from the surface above fade in to darkness, taking with it any hopes of the Macronesians finding him.

Satisfied with his effort, he looked back to the abyss before him, and blinked once in surprise; a single stunned and incomprehensible thought running through his mind. But that was _all _he had time to do as the angry, lashing bolts of subduction energy ripped through his fighter's nose and fuselage. He did not know the bite of the icy sea outside, nor did he know any regret or anger; only a strange, eternal darkness, and the echoing, silent thunder of his last thought… Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick did not die alone, the thought of a single person's warming smile bringing comfort to a bitter end. A sister whom he had loved so much, but would never know again;

This was no longer his war.

  

"Sir, torpedoes have gone active. Independent targeting systems are online, and all fish are running hot, straight and normal."

Ainsley coolly nodded. "Rig torpedo targeting telemetry to the ship's tactical systems and fire tubes-"

"_Captain!"_ interrupted Lieutenant Phillips from the communications station. "Sir, we have a priority one distress call from the seaQuest. …They report they are under attack from superior Macronesian forces and requesting immediate assistance from any available ships."

All eyes on the Bridge looked immediately to Ainsley, and the Captain's stomach sank. Macronesia, for all intents and purposes, had just declared war, and he was now faced with an intolerable decision: abandon the civilians aboard the Nintoku colony, or let seaQuest fend for her self. It was the same question so many UEO commanders had been left with over the last decade, but never before had the stakes been so high.

For the first time in many years, Captain Mark Ainsley – a man of 31 years in the Naval Service – hesitated. He did not know what to do.

"Sir!" reported Commander Callaghan. "We have 8 Mac torpedoes in the water and confirmed impacts on 3 targets from our own weapons, sir. 2 targets are breaking up, the other one disengaging."

"What of the other 4?"

"They're still coming si- _Damn_ it! Captain, we have four _more _torpedoes in the water and closing fast!"

Ainsley had made up his mind. seaQuest was on her own. His first and foremost duty was the safety of his own ship, and he would no compromise that. "Fire intercepts; all tubes! Helm… Bring us about to two-seven-zero and show them our prow. Stern left one third - easy on the planes."

6 more intercepts shot out from the Atlantis' tubes followed almost immediately by 8 more. Guided by the ASV's advanced sonar and sensor targeting arrays, it didn't take the countermeasures long to find their marks. One by one, the intercepts homed in on the enemy torpedoes and destroyed them before they even had the chance to go active.

Ainsley looked to the tactical station again, running some quick math through his head as he studied a chart table. "Fire tubes 1 through 6: split by twos on three targets."

"Aye, Captain."

More torpedoes left the Atlantis, but this time, the Macronesians were able to get off their own intercepts and only 2 got through. The 2 torpedoes sought out one of the Macronesian Orions and went active; pinging away noisily and electronically lighting up the Orions like Christmas trees. The submarine, in a vain attempt to out-manoeuvre the torpedoes moved forward and began a crash dive, but it was far too late. Ignoring the small countermeasures launched by the Orion, the weapons closed the range, and slammed in to the submarine's hull. The Orion imploded as the 2 torpedoes struck fore and aft on the submarine, renting massive breaches along its hull plating, and sending so much shock from stem to stern that the fast attack sub's back broke in a shattering 'boom' which rattled the sea for miles.

The 4 remaining Alliance submarines were now hopelessly outgunned, several laser salvos from the submarine's bows raked across the Atlantis's hull, but with little effect. The huge, armoured hull of the ASV shrugged off the hits effortlessly, and continued her angered surge forward. The Orions had little choice but to back off in the face of certain and dire peril.

"Captain, the Alliance submarines are pulling off," reported Commander Callaghan with a certain degree of approval in his voice.

Ainsley was inclined to let the Orions go. The Macronesians knew they had lost, and were not about to give the Atlantis or the colony any further trouble. Destroying the fleeing submarines would achieve little more than to create a very undesirable political fallout. "Very well Commander. Communications; get me the Nintoku seamount."

"Yes, sir"

Atlantis hovered over the Colony, wounded, but on her guard. The 4 torpedoes that struck the big submarine at the onset of battle along her starboard side had done only minor damage, but the ugly scars that marred her elegant hull were plainly obvious as the submarine's WSKRS satellites buzzed around their mother sub, illuminating the hull with flood lamps and providing eyes and ears for the damage control teams aboard.

The view screen on the ASV's bridge lagged badly, jumping between frames as the garbled digital signal from Nintoku Colony's command centre was filtered through the Atlantis's communications systems. The worn face of the Nintoku's first minister showed both relief and exhaustion. Behind him, fires raged and sparks sprayed from overhead plasma conduits. Captain Ainsley could only grimace as he looked at the mess behind the man on screen. "Sir, I am Captain Mark Ainsley of the United Earth Oceans submarine Atlantis. What's your condition?"

The minister managed a half-smile. "You have our thanks, Captain. I am First Minister Rackell... in charge of this colony. We have sustained heavy casualties and our power cores are on the verge of collapse..."

The UEO Captain knew that was bad. Nintoku was an old colony from the very first days of the oceanic boom of the 21st century, and did not have the same facilities as the more heavily populated and central commerce hubs such as the San Angeles colony off the Californian coast. Most power reactors aboard sub-surface colonies were fusion cores, and while the newer ones had fail-safes that could stop potential catastrophes from very literally exploding, older, independently governed power facilities such as Nintoku did not always have the luxury of upgrading such massively integrated and costly core installations such as power plants. It had been a major issue on the UEO's environmental agenda for many years. "Commander, prepare a repair crew and a sea launch for immediate deployment to the colony... Tell them to take whatever tools they need to lock down the colony's fusion core."

The Captain turned again to the minister on the bridge screen. "Minister, if you didn't hear that, we are sending over a repair crew to assist you. They will help you lock Nintoku's reactors down until a full relief party can be dispatched to the colony. I'm afraid that this submarine is… not exactly outfitted for a rescue operation at this point in time."

The Minister nodded, his expression softened somewhat. "I understand, Captain. Thank you."

Without much further procrastination, the colony's garbled transmission ended, and Ainsley sat down in his chair with a sigh again. seaQuest needed help, and in all probability, Atlantis was the _only _submarine within several hundred miles that was capable of assisting. It seemed that on only day-one of her job, the Atlantis ASV 8100 was already being called upon to save the world. "Helm," he said quietly, "Bring us around the colony in a wide circle… we'll shadow the Orions as long as we can. Lay in a course for seaQuest's last known position… Give me all the speed you have."


	3. Ruins of the Past

**III**

**Ruins of the Past**

**Emperor seamount chain. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100 Raptor Squadron Alpha; VF-107 Rapiers. November 8th, 2040…**

Lieutenant Jane Roberts sat in the small cockpit of her 'borrowed' Raptor sub-fighter doing somewhere near 120 knots through the submerged mountain range. The fighter was actually from one of the Atlantis' reserve squadrons and it felt foreign to her. She had calibrated the controls of her own fighter to her liking, but these controls were, in layman's terms, a _'dog'_; tight, sluggish and slow to respond to her actions. Add to that the fact that the squadron markings on the Raptor's tail, cockpit and fins were the simple grey monotones of a factory-built fighter, rather than the _Rapiers _black-and-navy scheme, she felt remarkably out of place.Ahead of her, several other fighters - one of them flown by Wing Commander Hitchcock - flew around in a standard square-search pattern. Trailing the squadron at a distance of about three miles, The Atlantis fed her own sensor information to the Raptor fighters deep within the mountain range.

seaQuest was lost. Despite Atlantis coming to her aid as quickly as possible, when they had got there, it had simply disappeared. A rescue mission had deteriorated to search and recovery before it had even begun and still - after nearly 12 hours of searching - they had found nothing... No wreckage and no beacons.

Roberts radioed in on her comms to the squadron commander ahead. "Rapier 2 to Rapier 1; I've got nothing on short range. If she's around here, she's in pieces."

Before the squadron commander could even reply, the voice of Rapier 7, Ensign Julian Hammond, impatiently interrupted. "Commander, I'm inclined to agree with the Lieutenant, sir. We've been searching for nearly 12 hours straight. I don't think she's here, sir."

Wing Commander Hitchcock sounded tired. Roberts could tell that the mission had hit him hard, but he was not prepared to show it to the rest of the squadron. He'd known a good deal of the pilots who had been assigned to the seaQuest, and he had absolutely no idea what happened to them. "We will make one more pass over the range. If we don't find anything, we'll call it a day."

No sooner had Hitchcock finished; Lieutenant Robert's sensors display lit up and began indicating scattered sonar returns just a few short miles away. "Sir, I've got something bearing 090, distance: 6 kilometres. Unknown origin… No transponders… No radio traffic."

"I've got it Lieutenant. Well done. All fighters approach with caution… Should you encounter hostiles; be advised you are weapons-free."

Roberts kicked in her throttle and brought the fighter around to the designated nav-beacon. The ocean floor rushed beneath her submarine as the Raptor hugged the submerged terrain like it was on rails. Standard UEO training doctrines would probably frown upon the somewhat 'creative' flying, but she didn't care. It often made even the most sobering and mundane missions just that much more enjoyable.

Switching between a few different sensor modes on the cockpit consoles, she frowned as she neared the point displayed by her sonar. Then decelerated and began to make a wide loop to come back over the site. The flood lights on her fighter and the virtual-map of the seafloor on her displays made her gasp in shock. "My god," she whispered to herself. "Sir… Are you seeing this?" The anguish in her voice was marked with anger, and a need to vengeance. Below, strewn across a pock-marked seabed, were the shattered hulls of three Macronesian Dragna class cruisers… and among them, indicated quite clearly by her sensors, the shattered hulks of half a dozen UEO Spectre class subfighters, or at least; what was left of them. All that remained that as recognisable was their transponder signals; now nothing more than a fading, ghostly echo. "Those stupid, god _damned _Macs," she spat angrily. The remains of seaQuest's entire EVA corps now lay strewn across the sea floor; the shattered debris, ruined hulls and scattered transponders of Spectre fighters, sea speeders and even sea launches were all that was left. She couldn't care less about the numerous Macronesian transponders that were still pinging away amongst them.

"_Rapier 1, this is Rapier 4… We've just entered the Ballard trench, sir. From what we can tell, there was a pretty major shit fight here… there's debris everywhere. Some of it looks like it could have come from the seaQuest – we're picking up fragments of hull plating along the trench shelf that look like they have _some _bioskin remains."_

"Damn it," spat Hitchcock over the radio. "If she's in the Ballard trench, we're never gonna find her. That bloody valley has more tributaries and fragmented fault lines than the Mid-Atlantic rise."

"Alpha wing, this is Atlantis… we're prepping a WSKRS probe to head down the trench… but be advised that if seaQuest is down there…" The Atlantis EVA commander's voice was pained. There was a quiet, terminal sense of loss to the message, and no one said a word. "…If she's down there… we… There won't be much left to find. It's beyond crush depth."

Roberts fought back a rising lump in her throat. 10 square miles of sea floor all pointing to one possible outcome – seaQuest was at the bottom of a ravine that was over 20,000 feet deep. While Atlantis could get down there with little trouble, the likelihood of the seaQuest surviving the descent was next to nothing. The big submarine would have sunk slowly… and the pressure of the water would have risen exponentially…

Hitchcock's voice was flat. "Rapiers… we've done all we can. All wings be advised; the Ballard trench is a no-fly. We'll leave it to the WSKRS.

Lieutenant Roberts hit more controls on her consoles, rapidly losing patience. "Sir, a 1000 foot-long submarine does not simply disappear… they could still be alive and simply hiding in the trench-" Roberts knew the moment she said it that it was almost impossible. The Atlantis had passed over the trench and bombarded it with the most advanced hypersonar arrays ever mounted on a submarine, and had found nothing.

Hitchcock's reply was a exactly what she'd expected, and he didn't seem too amused. "Lieutenant, we've searched 10 square miles of sea bed with a fine-toothed comb. You know just as well as I do that if the seaQuest is at the bottom of that ravine… WSKRS are our best bet to find her. I'm not going to risk sending my pilots in to a trench that is so poorly mapped that you could slam in to a coral reef and never even see it coming. Set a course back to the Atlantis. This mission is over."

The Raptors circled the site one more time like vultures on a dead beast. The haunting sight of the ruined submarines across the seabed almost seemed a premonition – the incarnation of fear itself; a war with Macronesia. A new dawn was coming, with one final look, the Rapiers accepted that fate was not always so kind, and headed home.

  

Captain Ainsley sat in his quarters listening to Beethoven's _Bagatelle in A minor;_ more commonly known to the world as "Fur Elise". The slow, flowing notes reflected his mood to a tee… the constant variation of that simple, renowned arpeggio, played mournfully in a solemn requiem of sorrow, regret, and at the same time, _beauty_. Ainsley shook his head as he looked out a big, reinforced glass window of his quarters to the sea beyond. Atlantis was at a depth of only one hundred and sixty feet. The water outside was an eerie, shimmering azure blue, illuminated by the rays of sunlight that filtered from the surface above, and he couldn't help but feel as blue as the view he was looking at. The same questions constantly drilled through his head; what could he have done differently? What had transpired during the final, tragic moments of battle? After nearly 17 hours over the site, and finding little more than scattered debris over the ridge below, and finding absolutely nothing in the hopeless complex ravines, gullies and trenches of the Ballard trench, he had resigned himself to the fact that 242 people had most likely died on the seaQuest, Captain Oliver Hudson probably included in that count. He had known Hudson since his academy days. Losing his life-long friend like this seemed…_wrong. _They had all known the risks when they joined the navy, but it was _not_ knowing what had happened that was tearing at him. His report officially said that seaQuest was "MPD", or Missing, Presumed Destroyed.

He was called away from his deep thought when the intercom chirped from his desk. Stopping the music, he headed to his computer console and hit the call button. The computer terminal resolved in to the harrowed face of Commander James Banick on the bridge of the ASV some way forward. "Sorry to bother you, Captain, but you have a transmission from Secretary General Dallinsley in Pearl Harbor… It's a priority-one, sir."

Ainsley nodded in defeat. He already knew what the call would be about, and he'd been dreading it all day. "Thankyou, Commander. Put the Secretary General through."

The XO seemed hesitant as he nodded; his lips pulled in to a tight, worried line and his faced disappeared and was immediately replaced by the incredibly annoyed features of the UEO Secretary General. This was not a happy politician.

"What the _hell _is going on down there, Mark?" spluttered the Secretary General. "First I hear the Atlantis has entered neutral confederation waters without authorization _and _destroyed 4 Alliance SSNs in the process, and to top it off, I'm reading reports telling me that the seaQuest has been _destroyed! _ Damn it, Ainsley! It's chaos up here! You do realise this could lead to war don't you! I swear I could have you relie-"

Captain Ainsley was in no mood, and it was probably a good thing that he was separated from the Secretary General by about a thousand nautical miles of the Pacific Ocean. _"Admiral!" _he said abruptly, opting on purpose to use the retired military man's rank, rather than his formal title within the UEO. "_Sir…_ Those Alliance submarines attacked a _civilian_ mining base in neutralwaters. The colony sent out a _general distress call._ I followed standing international law in my actions, and I will not kiss Alexander Bourne's behind just so we can avoid a war while he kills women and children like he did yesterday."

Dallinsley was still infuriated. "And what gives _you _the right to make that decision, Captain Ainsley? You may well have been following standing orders, but I would have thought that the idea of causing a _war _with Macronesia might have been enough to _rethink _how you approach such situations! I'm recalling Atlantis to Pearl – _immediately. _You've created an absolutely spectacular political fireworks display over this one, Captain. There _will _be an inquiry."

Ainsley's lip curled with venom. "I would _welcome _it, sir. Atlantis suffered damage during our… _engagement, _and my engineers are still assessing it. Until that is done, we are, respectfully, going no where. I'd like permission to continue searching for seaQuest-"

"_Damn it,_ Captain!" said Dallinsley again with emphasised disbelief. "Right now, you're lucky I haven't ordered Commander Banick to relieve you on the grounds of dereliction of duty!"

Ainsley didn't flinch. "Commander Banick, Mister Secretary, has supported every decision I have made. You will find the general feeling on this submarine regarding my actions if quite unanimous."

"…Are you threatening _mutiny, _Captain?"

"Hardly, sir. I'm merely _informing_ you that this submarine is not in any condition to make a journey to Pearl Harbor. Unless you're willing to send out a very large harbour tug to _pull_ us back to Hawaii, we simply need _time."_

Dallinsley sighed, finally accepting that there was no point in arguing with the Captain. "Mark, we're doing the best we can. But please don't make it harder by making matters worse. Stay out of trouble. As soon as you are capable of it, get back to Pearl. Dallinsley: out."

The image of the C-in-C winked out and Captain Ainsley sighed. Turning back to the view port, he returned to his thoughts, forgetting entirely about everything Dallinsley had said. They were sitting at the tip of a very large iceberg, but just how large was yet to be seen…

Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride sat in the mess hall of the Atlantis with her day's reports. The entire crew was now very aware of what had happened to the seaQuest, and Captain Ainsley had organised a memorial service scheduled for that evening. For the officers of the ASV, a formal service would be held on the ship's observation bridge, for the rest of the crew, a minute's silence would be observed shortly after. She was still struggling to come to grips with the magnitude of it all. 242 people: dead. And for what? seaQuest was the single most celebrated submarine of the UEO fleet, and now her fate seemed doomed to become a mystery of time.

Finishing the first report, she set it aside and realised that there was a long shadow being cast over her. She looked up to see Commander James Banick, his expression unreadable, like something was on his mind. But he still managed a smile as he looked at her. "Oh, sir, I was just-"

He waved her away as she was about to get up. "No, no, Commander. Please, carry on. I was merely passing through and noticed that you looked like you… needed a friend."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I don't know what you mean..."

Banick looked at 3 empty coffee mugs next to the Lieutenant Commander and smiled only too-knowingly.

Canebride smiled weakly. "Well… only 2 of those are mine," she confessed with a mischievous smile. Please, Commander, sit down."

The Atlantis XO smiled and pulled up a chair. "Call me Jim," he said. "…And it looks like shit's about to hit the fan."

Canebride frowned as she put down another report. "Oh?"

Banick lowered his voice a little, so as not to be heard by the other crew around the officer's lounge. "Command has hit the roof," he explained. "The Macs are throwing all types of political crap at the Security Council, the EU, NORPAC, even the NSC. It seems that they're a little upset that we trashed a few of their attack boats."

Natalie didn't seem too surprised, rolling her eyes slightly. This was hardly an extraordinary event, and when dealing with Macronesia – in particular Alexander Bourne – the UEO was quite used to melodrama in gratuitous amounts. "So what's new? Even so… the UEO is strained enough as it is without adding to the problems. What's the general assembly's take on it?"

Banick hesitated. Something was different this time. "There's going to be an investigation. And it looks like they've taken it pretty seriously. The Secretary General himself spoke to the Captain and effectively terminated our orders."

"So much for shakedown."

Banick looked down at the table, smiling slightly, and then back to Canebride apologetically. "I'm sorry. This isn't cheering you up, is it?"

She smiled at him as she placed aside another report. "No… Not really. But it's ok; at least it's something to talk about. I was getting kind of bored."

The XO cleared his throat as he smiled, and pushed his chair back from the table. "Well, I've got to get back to the Bridge. It's my shift in a few minutes, so I'll see you later."

"Yeah, sure," she replied with a smile, but looking more than a little unconvinced that Banick was entirely finished. "Take it easy."

Banick started to turn, but he was extremely hesitant and was surrounded with a tense, nervous air. She laughed a little, looking up at him, having a very good idea what was on the Commander's mind. "Was there something else?"

A half-smile was badly hidden on Banick's features. The mock expression of surprise did little to help. "No, no… well… _actually_…" The short sigh that followed was a telling tale that there was absolutely no going back. Natalie Canebride looked rather amused. "I was… _wondering_… if you were busy tomorrow evening."

Canebride shook her head and with a broad grin, and a twinkle in her eye. "No, not really… Was there any _particular _reason you asked?"

Banick smiled. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. "Well, I know of this great little restaurant on Waikiki. Would you like to… urm, you know. Go out some time? Dinner? Lunch? Hell, even just coffee-"

It had taken him a while, but the Atlantis's XO had finally said it. Canebride had had her fun, and smiled. "I'd love to. See you later."

Banick smiled broadly, clearing his throat again, and nodding, grateful for small mercies. "Great. Well, I guess I'll see you later, Lieutenant Commander… I mean, _Natalie."_

Banick wasted little time in making himself scarce as he walked out of the lounge quickly, having completed his mission, but still feeling more than a little awkward. It didn't matter how many times such encounters happened; they never got any easier. Natalie Canebride smiled to herself again as she went back to her work with a knowing smile. "Yep… He likes me…"

Walking down corridor B-1, directly behind the Bridge, James Banick was still shaking off his nervousness, although admittedly it wasn't as bad considering the reply he'd gotten to the invitation was a positive one. Relatively speaking, he felt quite inflated over it, but he didn't have much time to dwell on it as the ship's PA echoed down the halls. _"All senior officers; report to the Captain's briefing room immediately."_

Banick stopped just as he entered the bridge and sighed deeply. Aboard this submarine, he was quickly finding that there was never a dull moment. There was always some detail of being a senior officer that needed dealing with. Doubling back along his path, he headed back through the clamshell doors for the briefing room.

Things had seemed bleak on the Atlantis in the time since the attack on Nintoku. Banick didn't think it was just the seaQuest's loss, either. The thought of a war with the Macronesian Alliance didn't thrill the crew in the slightest, and hour after hour, the prospect of it seemed to get only more likely. Stepping through the double doors of the wardroom, he nodded respectfully to the gathered officers who had beaten him to the meeting. Natalie Canebride was among them, and regarded him with a smug grin. Next to her Lieutenant Commander Callaghan, Lieutenant Phillips, Chief Stevens and finally, sitting at the head of the long table, Captain Mark Ainsley.

After taking his seat next to the Captain on the right hand side of the table, the Captain smiled with a polite nod, and got straight to the point. "We're not going back to Pearl Harbor," he said quietly.

Uneasiness quickly spread around the table and several of the more junior officers fidgeted in their seats, not exactly sure of what to make of the Captain's decision. Ainsley had more or less just declared his intent to disobey a direct order from UEO Fleet Command. "I'm about to commit a violation of our orders," he continued. "We were called back to Pearl Harbor pending an investigation of my orders to defend Nintoku. UEO Command believes that our actions were... unjustified. While we _did _uphold the letter of international law, we also – in the process – committed the UEO to an open fire fight with Alliance forces. No, I don't know what the Alliance has demanded of the General Assembly… but the indication seems to be that there _will _be a full inquiry as a result."

Chief Stevens was cautious with his question. "Sir, Permission to speak freely?"

Ainsley nodded curtly, and Stevens settled back in to his chair. "You realise sir, that in the event you are called before a board of inquiry and your decision to disobey these orders is brought in to question… a lot of us will have to testify to it."

Ainsley smiled slightly and shook his head. "I understand that, Chief… Anyone who does not wish to get involved with this may leave now… and I will make note of your objection in my log. You will be absolved of all responsibility for these actions."

The officers looked at one another grimly, but did not move from their seats. Ainsley looked at them all very carefully, and ended his long gaze by taking particular attention to Commander Banick. "Let me make this perfectly clear... under naval regulations, you are _required _to relieve me of command for this. Or to be specific; Commander Banick is. Should he decide to do this, I will not stop him… but know that I would not force such a situation unless I believed it was absolutely necessary."

Banick nodded grimly. "You wish to explain that, sir?"

Ainsley cocked his head, as if implying he was happy to oblige. "Computer," he said clearly, "Map please. The Emperor seamounts: One-seven-five east by zero-four-zero north."

The computer bleeped an affirmative, and responded by dimming the room's lights and presenting a large holographic map over the wardroom desk. Satisfied with it to that point, Ainsley prompted for further detail "Overlay projected courses of UEO Atlantis ASV 8100 and UEO seaQuest DSV 4600 between the dates of one-one-zero-six-four-one and one-one-one-two-four-one."

A long red line was projected over the slowly rotating map. The line weaved its way up the chain of mountains, bringing it remarkably close to the Nintoku colony, while at the same time; a blue line was overlayed showing the relative location of the seaQuest throughout the mission. The gathered officers frowned as they began to see the pattern, but Ainsley was not finished. "Computer… Display location of UEO Atlantis and UEO seaQuest as of fourteen hundred on one-one-zero-seven-four-one."

The computer bleeped again as it overlayed a pair of gold deltas above the blue and red paths. Banick's heart skipped a beat as he saw the connection; Atlantis was sitting comfortably just outside the Nintoku colony's territorial waters… while seaQuest was trailing nearly a hundred nautical miles to her south… directly over a massively complex system of trenches and mountains that included the Ballard trench. Ainsley shook a suspicious finger at the projected image, looking at his officers with a cautious eye. "Isn't it funny how just as we pass the Nintoku ranges… the Macs decide to attack the colony, and for whatever amazing coincidence, the seaQuest is caught in the middle of one of the most treacherous mazes of the northern Pacific?"

"Well I'll be damned…" said Callaghan as it all fell together. "They were expecting us?"

"It's the only way I can rationalize it," said Ainsley helplessly. "The Macs hit Nintoku with _eight _fast attack submarines. Nintoku is nothing more than a mining establishment with poor defences and very little strategic value. _Why _would they send so much firepower against such a target?"

"Unless they expected trouble," said Banick with narrowed eyes.

Canebride looked a little sceptical. "Sir, our mission details were classified from the highest level of UEO command. _How _could they have coordinated such a precise strike?"

"That's the one thing I haven't been able to answer, Lieutenant Commander," explained the Captain. "And that's exactly why I don't like what I'm looking at… and why I'm inclined to _disregard _our orders to return to Pearl Harbor."

"Ok, assuming they knew…" began Callaghan, putting the hypothetical scenario down as it came. "…Are you trying to say that Nintoku was a _diversion _to draw us away from the seaQuest?"

"…Precisely," confirmed Ainsley grimly and with an awkward darkness that managed to send shivers down the spines of almost everyone in the room. "We're drawn away from seaQuest, out of any possible range to respond to a call for aid… and the moment we are engaged by Macronesians here at Nintoku, the seaQuest is conveniently engaged by _more _Alliance forces… and disappears."

"So seaQuest was the target the entire time," said Canebride, stating the obvious. "…But why?"

"I don't know. Yes, seaQuest has long been a thorn in Macronesia's side, but to do something like this given that seaQuest was literally only a few months from decommission makes no sense. The Macs have just risked an open war… and appear to have achieved very little in the process. My question is _why?"_

Commander Callaghan cast his eyes back and forth nervously. He didn't know his Captain well enough to make any real judgement on his character, but nonetheless, it was a valid question. "Sir, you are risking a_ lot_ based on a pretty downright sketchy assumption. If you're wrong, you _will _be court martialled.

"Of that I have no doubt, Mister Callaghan," confessed Ainsley with a wry smile. "As I said at the beginning of this meeting, anyone who does _not _wish to be involved in this may object, and I shall not think ill of you for doing so. Commander Banick… I'm sorry to present this situation to you, but unless you relieve me of duty right here, and right now… you will be an accessory to a fairly _extensive _list of crimes."

Banick seemed to be considering Ainsley's warning very seriously for a moment, working his jaw with a wry smile. He'd know the Captain for quite a few years, and respected him as both a colleague and mentor. The man was a living legend, and now he was asking the impossible not only of himself; but his crew. Greatness had limits… and today that limit would be defined by the actions of just a few good men and women and their Captain, against the will of their highest orders. "Captain…" he said with quiet deliberation, "…Given _my _record, I cannot really see myself relieving a superior officer of command and getting away with it. I'd probably be court martialled for even considering it. If you want to go and blow up more Australians; hell… I'm with you. _My _record could only be improved by such a thing."

The laughter of the other officers confirmed their mutual agreement with the Commander's crude assessment, and the Captain of the Atlantis could only smile. This crew, it seemed, would follow him to hell itself if he asked them to. He just hoped that it would not come to that. "In that case, Commander… set your course for the Ballard Trench."

With the meeting so informally adjourned, Ainsley got up from the desk, nodded again to his officers in silent thanks for their support, and then quickly left the room. As the other officers around the table got up and departed in similar fashion, Banick walked quietly over to where Natalie Canebride sat and whispered into her ear. _"Is a rain cheque on Dinner OK?"_


	4. In Deep

**IV**

**In Deep**

**UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. Holding Station over the Emperor seamounts. November 9th, 2040.**

It was quiet on the bridge of the Atlantis as Captain Ainsley sat patiently checking his monitors and consoles, sifting through a mountain of department reports from across the submarine. The UEO had ordered the Atlantis back to Pearl Harbor. _He _had ordered her to stay exactly where she was. It would buy him time to find out just what had happened over the last few days, but that was all it would buy him. The Secretary General didn't believe a word of his story about _damage _and _assessments. _And soon, there would likely be a veritable armada of UEO subs chasing him. Almost on cue, the Atlantis' comm. Officer, Jack Phillips turned from his station to face the Captain. "Sir, we just got a ULF transmission from UEOCINCPAC. They've been trying to contact us directly off the satellite net for about 12 hours now. They want to know what we're doing."

Ainsley smiled knowingly. "I was wondering when they might try the ULF... Send this back; satellite antenna is damaged, direct communications not possible. Engines are still being repaired."

The young Phillips grinned, looking rather sceptical. "Think they'll buy it sir?"

"Nope," confessed the Captain. "I half-expect we'll be escorted back to Pearl by a squadron of Battlecruisers."

"Aye, sir… I'll send the message."

Morale amongst the crew was relatively high. Just a day before, a bunch of politicians and bureaucrats had been prepared to pull the Atlantis off the line over red tape when there were considerably more important things at stake. Captains had stood up against those kinds of barriers for over a decade. Now was no different. If a court martial was the only way to find the truth of what was happening, then Ainsley would have it no other way. Not a single person on board had protested the orders to disobey UEO command, and it had given the crew a sense of renewed purpose. There was an air of challenge and daring across the ship, and never in his entire career had Captain Ainsley met a finer crew. He turned to the EVA station at the side of the Bridge and Commander Callaghan met his gaze. "Sir?"

"Commander, ready salvage crews to examine that debris out there and move WSKRS Loner and Junior in to position for a square search of the area."

"Aye sir."

The WSKRS system was a network of 3 small 'Wireless Sea-Knowledge Retrieval Satellites' fittingly called "Whiskers". The satellites were mainly used to gather data from the surrounding sea, but could be used for a multitude of other tasks. In this case, the WSKRS satellites would gather and analyse information on what was in the debris field, cataloguing everything within it, and with help from the Atlantis' computer, would try to discern exactly what had happened. It was a long shot, but with the entire EVA corps searching the depths of the trench below, and WSKRS plotting detailed maps of the mountain ranges, it was the best chance they had…

  

Commander Gabriel Hitchcock was having a bad week. The grim mission to explore the debris field below was not helping. Sitting in the pilot's seat of the short-range Sea Launch mini-sub, he began the start up sequence of all its systems and strapped himself in. The small bubble cockpit door opened and Lieutenant Commander Canebride moved to the starboard side's co-pilot's seat.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant Commander," he said flatly. He knew Natalie Canebride by acquaintance only. While she _was _a certified pilot, their paths seldom crossed because of their remarkably different working conditions. Hitchcock was a fighter pilot, and over 10 years older than her, but she was a fleet helm officer who sat on the bridge of a 240,000 tonne battleship. They were hardly comparable fields of work.

"Hello, sir," she greeted in return, sitting down and putting on the radio headset. "You look like you've had a rough day."

"I hate these kinds of missions," he confirmed glumly. And nothing more needed to be said.

"I know what you mean," she said distantly as she ran through several check lists. "Alright… let's do pre-flight. Fuel?"

"Reserves are full."

"Reactor?"

"Online and operating at normal levels."

They finished the pre-flight checklist quickly, and Commander Hitchcock set the last of the controls to idle, and the launch was ready for departure. "Alright, Lieutenant Commander, get us clearance and we're out of here."

"Yes sir." Leaning over, she toggled the radio and settled back in to her seat, getting comfortable for what would likely be a long and very monotonous mission. "Sea-deck control, this is Sea Launch Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six requesting launch clearance."

The reply was remarkably clear; almost like the person speaking was right next to her. She recognised the voice as that of Lieutenant Commander Ryan Callaghan. "Sea Launch Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six, this is EVA Control. You are cleared for immediate departure. Sea doors are open."

"Thanks, Ryan. Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six; out."

Releasing her grip on the radio, Canebride brought the last of the launch's systems online, and disengaged the docking clamps that held the craft secured to the submerged docking bay of the Atlantis's lower EVA decks. "She's all yours, sir," she said, looking at Hitchcock.

The older Wing Commander eased back on the stick and put in a small amount of reverse throttle. The launch backed out of its berth, swinging its long hull around to face the massive external sea doors. The doors would have weighed at least 80 tonnes, and were the only thing that protected the submarine's internal decks from the crushing pressure outside. At over 3000 feet deep, there was no natural light. Guided by the flood lights of the Atlantis' EVA bays, and its own searchlights, the Launch moved out from the sheltered protection from the ASV and in to the darkness beyond.

Manoeuvring over the debris field; WSKRS, Sea Launches, and 'Sea Crabs' scoured the sea floor in search of answers. Sea Crabs were small, single-crewed submersibles which, unsurprisingly, resembled a crab. Their long, multipurpose arms were exceptionally useful for such work.

Above them, the Atlantis maintained her position. Visible only by their work lights, EVA-suited maintenance crews still worked to fully repair the damage to the great submarine's hull done by the Macronesians just a couple of days previously. From her position in the sea launch, they seemed like insignificant specks through the darkness, and Canebride had never really appreciated just how big the boat really was until that point. Her huge, sweeping wings, flowing lines, and floodlight-illuminated bioskin made the Atlantis seem like a giant, artificial reef. It was an oddly beautiful sight, and she had to force her gaze away to get back to the task at hand, continuing to plot the sea floor's topography. Thousands of square meters of debris field, stretching into the blackness around her was a frighteningly eerie sight. The secrets that darkness withheld, and the many lives it had claimed were figures lost to history. But for whatever reason, humanity continued to return to that darkness…

Sitting in an armchair in his stateroom, Captain Ainsley sat quietly to nothing more than the sound of Mozart. He wasn't really paying attention though as he carefully studied a set of schematics on a hand held PDA. The schematics were those of the UEO seaQuest DSV; a long, slender hull based on the biological design of a squid. Her bow formed a long, streamlined ridged arrowhead that cut back along nearly a quarter of the length before rapidly dropping away to a long, slender neck that was connected to the hydrosphere – connected to the midships section by 4 cross-forming bridges. The stern fell away to a long, cigar-formed section oh hull that ended with a set of 4 rudders, which also happened to resemble the tentacles of a squid. Technically speaking, while the design was unusual, it was also the most logical shape for a submarine. Creatures which spent millions of years adapting to an aquatic environment were understandably the most streamlined nautical designs on the planet, and learning how to replicate their living forms was the holy grail of submarine design. seaQuest was the perfect boat, and it had ultimately been her imperfect human component that had brought about her demise. Atlantis too, had been designed with those same theories of design as the basis of its construction. What had it taken to send the great submarine to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen again?

He had analysed nearly every unclassified scrap of data on the DSV. Yes, the seaQuest was an old design; its fundamental engineering systems long since surpassed by newer and more advanced technologies. But her basic design concepts were still the core of everything the UEO did; peacekeeping, exploration, science. Strategically speaking, destroying the seaQuest 10 years ago would have made a great deal of sense; she was the most powerful ship in the UEO fleet at the time. But to do so now, just as the Atlantis and Aquarius were entering service was completely illogical. Why had Macronesia created such an elaborate diversion to destroy her?

The next thing on his mind was the debris field below; something as big as seaQuest didn't simply vanish without a trace. Even had the 1000-foot-long submarine been totally destroyed and turned in to a pile of shredded metal, 32,000 tonnes of debris was very easy to find, and there was simply not enough wreckage beneath the Atlantis to add up to that figure. And even if there was, the only way a ship that large could be that badly torn apart would be with a nuclear weapon. But he knew that that wasn't the answer, had a nuclear weapon indeed been detonated, not only would the Atlantis and just about every major seismic monitoring station detected it, but the entire area where the Atlantis now hovered would have been drenched with radioactive contamination. Putting the pad down, The Captain got up and rubbed his face. He had not slept in 24 hours, and the effects of it were beginning to show. Insomnia was beginning to set in, and while he was tired, he couldn't sleep even if he tried. The intercom bleeped from his desk and he switched off the Music which by now he'd totally forgotten about and walked to the desk.

"This is Ainsley. Go ahead."

Chief Edward Steven's voice came back full of energy, and very lively; something that Ainsley lacked at that moment. "Engineering here, sir. We've just pulled aboard some wreckage from that debris outside. We've found some… interesting results. I thought you might want to come down here and see it."

The Captain sighed. He didn't need this now, but duty seldom gave what one 'needed'. "Yeah, Chief. I'll be there in a few minutes. Thank you."

  

Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens frowned again as he looked over the computer readings he was getting off of the large piece of debris that sat in the middle of holding bay sixteen on the Atlantis's E-Deck hangar. He knew from the tattered remnants of the bioskin that still clung to the Titanium plating that it had to have come from the seaQuest, and he just hoped that the piece of wreckage held some kind of answers. Tech crews swarmed around the hangars they examined different things retrieved from the debris field below. A mundane task; some objects were of a more unusual nature, like pots and pans that seemed to have come from the galleys, and in some cases, entire turbine assemblies from destroyed Subfighters – both UEO and Macronesian. Other items included pieces of titanium hull plating much like the one that he himself now examined. The computer worked quickly to analyse samples of the wreckage through spectroscopy, looking in-depth at the atomic and molecular make up of the material in question. The process itself was quite simple and for him, very boring, but the results that were being produced were anything but that.

The chief engineer then noticed the Captain approaching out of the corner of his eye, and he waved him over. "Captain? Over here."

"What's this?" asked the Captain, casting a wary eye over the shattered and torn piece of metal.

"Standard NORPAC construction Grade-5 Titanium-Steel-Carbon alloy hull plating fragment with what's left of a UEO 2nd Generation semi-organic hull skin."

Ainsley looked at Stevens incredulously. He knew exactly _what_ the object was, but what he didn't know was what it _meant. _"…Ok, so it's a piece of hull plating from a UEO Submarine. And?"

"_And," _added Stevens pointedly, handing Ainsley a PDA with numerous pages of data over it, "I've found something very interesting about it the second the salvage crews pulled it aboard. Now, being an engineer, I don't know squat about the Bioskin, but when I saw this… well, let's just say it got my attention."

Stevens walked over to the piece of wreckage, and pulling a spanner from his belt, proceeded to give the shattered Titanium hull plating a solid whack along its torn edge. Much to Ainsley's astonishment, it crumbled like wet sandstone, sending brittle fragments of metal and bioskin across the deck beneath his feet. "…That's not possible."

Stevens smiled victoriously. "Well with all due respect, sir. You're not the first person to say that about this kind of abnormality. But I assure you, it _is _possible. I've seen it before."

"You have?"

"Yes," confirmed the engineer with dismay. "But what really got my attention is this bioskin. You're familiar with them, right?"

"Of course," said Ainsley with a furrowed brow. "Atlantis uses the same technology. A triple layered semi-organic skin that covers the outer hull. It's more or less just a genetically-engineered seaweed... thicker than the hide of a humpback whale."

"Yeah, and tough as nails to break," said Stevens, summarising the point he was trying to make. "The thing is; _this _particular bioskin is _dead. _Bioskins should regenerate if damaged. It's a stop-gap measure to seal hull breaches, but in this case, it's like something's come along and sucked all the proteins out of it. It's a dead leaf." As if accenting his point, Stevens scraped his nails over the supposedly-rubbery material, only to have it break apart effortlessly beneath his fingers.

Ainsley looked at the tattered segment of hull, trying to grasp at what could possibly have done the degree of damage before him. "You said you've seen this before..." he said carefully.

"Yeah. What we have here is a complete break down of chemical bonds within the hull alloy and the bioskin. They've more or less been momentarily _liquefied _and melted together, and became extremely brittle in the process."

The worked his jaw. Now he thought of it, he had also heard of this happening. But this was by far the most _extreme _example of it he had ever seen. "Subduction," he concluded finally.

"Yep," said Stevens. "This could only have been done by a Macronesian subduction weapon. Now, when I was helping to build this boat, we did a whole heap of really weird and interesting experiments… But I have _never _seen this degree of total molecular breakdown from Subduction before. The weapon yield would have to have been _many _times greater than anything we've seen to date."

"SD-12s?" asked Ainsley, referring to Macronesia's 'Minotaur'-type Subduction cannons that were mounted aboard their Tempest class heavy cruisers – a ship that the UEO had yet to come across in direct battle.

"Possibly, but I _would _be surprised. I think this is beyond even the SD-12's capabilities. I say whatever it was would have been considerably larger in both physical size and yield."

This changed almost everything. Macronesia had never before used subduction technology as an anti-submarine weapon. The fact they now had proof that this weapon had been used against seaQuest raised some very dangerous questions.

"Ok Chief. Keep working at this. If you find _anything _else unusual, let me know straight away.

"Will do, Sir."

  

**UEO Command Base, San Francisco, California. North America. November 10th, 2040…**

Daylight was coming to the city of San Francisco and the everyday buzz of city life was still dawning on the citizens of the United States. Despite all the world's problems, for them it was just another working day.

Standing on the pier of the jointed UEO-NORPAC Naval base on Tiburon Peninsula at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge, Lieutenant Phil Osborne took in the crisp morning air. Not too far away, covered in a shroud of morning mist were the UEO's Richardson Bay construction slips. Osborne didn't know much of what was happening at those docks, in fact, it seemed _that no_ one did.

Many people, from civilians to military personnel and the media had made inquiries with UEO's regional command about what was happening at the facility after it had been radically modernized for some unknown purpose, but they had never been given a real answer. Whatever that purpose was, it seemed to necessitate the use of the _entire_ base. Walking along the pier, he began to approach Tiburon's Submarine base. His own boat, the UEO Fast Attack Submarine _Antares,_ was due to leave port that morning to join the fleet at Pearl Harbor. He was only a communications officer, but he was proud of his submarine as was the rest of the crew. But of course, Osborne would have done almost anything to get one of the very few and privileged positions aboard the recently commissioned Atlantis ASV. He had rushed in a transfer application when the Aquarius had become public knowledge at the same time, but he knew his chances were not overly high.

That morning was particularly brisk and he had to zip his uniform jacket up to the neck in order to keep warm, and even then it did little to deter the cold. A lot of other Navy personnel were scattered over the docks tending to their day's work, and the lower ranks saluted him as he passed. In a good mood, he returned them in a more cheery manner and waved each of them off with a casual tip off his hat.

But Osborne stopped as he suddenly got the impression he had forgotten something. Thinking about it for a moment, he dug deep in to his pockets, trying to remember what it was, and then realised that he had left his security pass at the front desk of the administration complex. _"Shit!"_ He said with annoyance. "Bloody hell… I hope the damned thing is still there…"

Doing a quick about-face, he began a quick jog back towards the administration buildings behind him. At least the exercise might do something about the cold.

After running about a hundred yards, still cursing that he'd left his ID behind he slowed and looked up at the overcast morning sky. He heard thunder, but it seemed to be distant. "Nearly a hundred years of space flight and we can't even get the weather right," he complained to no one in particular. Shaking his head, he continued onward briefly, but then realised that the thunder was continuing. This was going to be a rather spectacular storm. Stopping again, he looked to the grey skies in curiosity before the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and he saw a flash and smoke start to rise from one of the naval piers across the bay. He felt this before he heard is as the shattering "crunch" pierced the sky. _"…What the hell?" _He whispered, looking at the commotion across the bay. There was another not far from it… and then he heard the sonic booms above as streaks of white fire tore through the sky towards the naval base below."Oh, Shit!" he said as he began to run as fast as he could towards the administration complex. It didn't take a genius to work out what was going on; San Francisco was under attack. _"Shit!"_

The yelling of other base personnel as they scattered grew quite loud as he ran… But there was a faint feeling of growing danger as the ground beneath his feet started to rumble. He had barely taken another 10 steps when the ground seemed to fall from under him, and all hell broke loose in one final, deafening explosion…

**UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. Holding Station at the Emperor seamount Chain. November 10th, 2040.**

Red Alert Klaxons hammered away through the corridors of the Atlantis, and Mark Ainsley awoke to the sound of the ship's PA blaring through his quarters. Throwing the covers off and forcing his eyes open awkwardly, his first instinct was to reach for his uniform jacket that hung over the back of a chair not far from where he was standing. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and had merely lain down to take a break. The fact he was still wearing his boots was a testament to that. "Captain to the bridge," he said gruffly, slapping the intercom on his desk. "Commander Banick, what the _hell_ is going on?"

The monitor at Ainsley's computer flickered to life to show the equally-gaunt face of Commander James Banick. Behind him, the Bridge was bustling with activity as crew arrived at their duty stations from across the ship. "Captain, UEO Command in Pearl Harbor has just issued a fleet-wide condition two alert, sir."

Ainsley's head was spinning. A condition-two alert usually meant that someone, somewhere, was expecting a war. As a result, the entire UEO Navy would go to a state of maximum readiness in preparation to respond to whatever the threat was. "Please tell me you're joking, Commander."

"I don't joke at oh-four-hundred-hours sir. It's impolite… stand by."

Banick reached off-screen and hit some unseen control. His face was quickly replaced by the burning nightmare of the UEO's San Francisco naval base. The city itself seemed mostly untouched, but thick black smoke billowed from the northern end of the bay - the UEO naval facility. From the news-ticker at the bottom of the screen, and the commentary that came with it, it was obviously a news broadcast. "…You're looking at what remains of the United Earth Oceans Naval facility in the San Francisco bay area. Less than a half an hour ago, explosions ripped through this naval base in what now appears to be an attack by as-yet unidentified forces. UEO Command has yet to release any official details, but a spokesperson _has _confirmed that there have been very many casualties, with the base military hospital being so inundated with wounded that many of the victims are being sent to civilian hospitals including San Rafael and Strawberry Point. There has been some speculation that this attack could be a Macronesian reprisal for November 9th's skirmish between Alliance naval vessels and the highly controversial UEO Atlantis ASV 8100-"

Ainsley didn't need to hear anything more, and was already on his way out the door. "Understood commander, I'll be there shortly…"

"_Captain on the bridge!"_

All officers who were on the Atlantis's command deck snapped to attention and saluted sharply as Ainsley entered through the Bridge's big clam doors. "As you were," he said as he moved to the Conn. "Commander Banick, report?"

Banick was already at his station on Ainsley's right and turned around to face the Captain. "All stations at full readiness, sir. We still haven't got any word from UEO Command on the situation in San Francisco."

"Have you managed to get anything off the UEO Net?"

"Yes sir… I took the liberty of getting all the information I could from Sat-Recon. It looks pretty bad. Tiburon took a hell of a pounding. The casualty reports still haven't stopped coming in. Most deployed fleet units are in the same state as us, sir; they haven't received any further orders from Command either."

Ainsley frowned. This was, to say the least, unusual. A major UEO Naval base had just been attacked, and fleet command didn't seem to be telling _anyone _what was going on. But Banick was not finished, and he got up quietly came to the Captain's side. "There's something else sir," he whispered. "A few minutes ago, we picked up the UEO Ark Royal and the UEO Victorious on an intercept course with our location with about 4 squadrons of Raptors in tow."

The Captain regarded Banick with a concerned frown. He had been wondering when Pearl Harbor would send someone to 'investigate' what was going on. It seemed he wasn't going to be disappointed. "Have they tried hailing us?"

"Nothing beyond simple recognition codes yet, sir. They'll be here within the next 2 hours."

The Captain nodded slowly. "Alright. We'll hold a briefing with the senior staff and you can tell us what the hell is going." The games were over. Atlantis, one way or the other, _would _go back to Pearl Harbor. "Communications," he said as he looked to Lieutenant Jack Phillips. "Lieutenant Phillips, you have the bridge. In the event that either of those two Subcarriers hail us and want to speak with me; patch it straight through to the wardroom. All senior officers, report to the briefing room... now."

Ainsley was pacing back and forth, deep in thought at the front of the briefing room as Commander Banick explained what was going on to the rest of the assembled officers. "Bourne's timing couldn't have been better," said the Atlantis Exec. "The UEO Net is going absolutely berserk. Regional commands are sending dispatches to every fleet headquarters and battlegroup command on the planet, and the little I've managed to get out of UEO Headquarters in Pearl seems to suggest that we're waiting to see what Melbourne has to say about this... They seem to be reluctant to do _anything _until someone's taken responsibility for it."

"Ah… I see the politicians are at work again," observed Callaghan with a smug grin. "Seriously though, Commander… Have there been _any _orders dispatched to the fleet?"

"No," said Banick simply. "The only order given has been a general code-two. The fleet is to remain at maximum readiness and await further orders."

"How bad is the damage at San Francisco?" asked Canebride sombrely. Any hint of her light-hearted conversation with Banick earlier that day being totally unrecognisable.

"It's bad," said Banick with dread. He leaned over to the center of the desk and hit a few controls, bringing up several holographic satellite images he'd downloaded earlier on. The maps did not paint a pretty picture. "Tiburon base has been almost totally destroyed. The casualties are expected to be enormous. The only good news is that the shipyards on Richardson Bay are still intact… So the fleet still has some degree of logistical support left in the area."

"How the hell did the missiles get through NORPAC's anti-missile defences? NORAD must have seen these things coming, surely."

Banick looked hesitant. He didn't like the answer to that any more than Callaghan was going to. "We don't know. It's likely that the missiles were launched from off the US Coast, but even then… there _should _have been some warning. The missiles were apparently hypersonic, so their total flight time could have been measured in just a few minutes… if that."

"Anything from diplomatic channels?"

"It's not good," replied the Commander again. All of a sudden, everyone was looking at him as the local expert of everything to do with the attack. "A few hours ago, the Alliance expelled every UEO diplomat within Macronesia. No surprises there, I guess."

Nothing more could be said. The room took on a new air of fear with that thought. Diplomats were almost never expelled from a county… unless all hopes for a diplomatic solution had completely disappeared

"So what do we do now?" asked Canebride, breaking the silence with the most obvious question a person could ask.

Ainsley stopped pacing and faced his officers, cutting in before Banick could reply. _"-Now,_ we deal with the present. The simple fact is that there is not a single person in the UEO with half a brain that doesn't know who was responsible for this attack. If there was ever a way to declare war, then _that _was it. As much as I would liketo continue our investigation to what has happened over the last few days, there are simply more pressing things to deal with. We'll take what we have to UEO Command and tell them everything we've found and what little we've learned… But we need to deal with reality… We're at war, people, and there is very little we can do about it from here."

A heavy silence fell over the wardroom. Banick thought with some degree of morbid humour that Ainsley would be the ideal person to call if you ever needed to kill a party. "Your orders, sir?"

"Contact those two submarines which are arriving," replied the Captain sternly. "Tell them we're making for Pearl Harbor at best speed, and then set a course for Hawaii. But _I_ have a few loose ends to tie up…"

**Melbourne, Australia. Macronesian Alliance Capital Territory. Presidential Residence. November 11th, 2040…**

Alexander Bourne was a man veiled in infinite shades of grey. He was revered, feared, respected, and in some cases; loathed. But that was the life of the politician, and was prepared to accept that. Two thousand years before, the fate of the Roman Empire had been decided in a single moment when Julius Caesar had given the order to cross the Rubicon. Perhaps he too had made that same fateful decision… But history would be the one to tell that, and he intended to write it. For years, the UEO had represented an obstacle to him; an impasse that he could not scale through political manipulation, and a political force that he could not bring down with simple military strength. But now he had both on his side, and he could finally do what he had set out to nearly 15 years before; destroy the United Earth Oceans.

The history behind this great feud with the UEO was long and complex. It had begun as a difference of opinion when the UEO had lifted the ban on colonial deregulation… Bourne did what any intelligent man would, and invested a great deal of time in exploiting this new opportunity. And then the UEO had begun to put embargos against the non-aligned confederations of the world – including the many colonies and prospects that Australia had established across the Pacific. Australia's objections had gone unnoticed, and the nation then resigned her membership from the organization, becoming the founding state of the Macronesian Alliance – an Alliance that presented opportunities that the UEO did not. Many other nations had been quick to join, and Macronesia had become a power to be reckoned with. Inevitably, it sparked an arms race unseen since the Cold War of the twentieth century.

…It was a cold war no more.

Walking down the halls of the state house to the chambers of the Alliance Parliament, President Alexander Bourne straightened his tie and allowed a grief-stricken, wary and forlorn smile for the cameras around him. Presentation was often far more important than anything one had to say. Beside him, the faces of his military advisers and aids were unreadable. They betrayed nothing.

A pair of marines opened the doors to the chambers before the President and he strode in to the House of Representatives to the thunder of revered applause. The house already knew what to expect from their President that day, of course. His address would simply be a formality to be passed as soon as he had finished it. He walked down the centre aisle, making sure he didn't make too much personal eye contact with the various hundreds of Alliance councillors in the chamber. He took to the Dais that sat high on the raised podium beneath the Speak of the House, and bearing the presidential seal. Waiting a few moments, he cast his eyes over the room, making sure he had everyone's attention. "Please be seated," he said quickly.

The request was met quickly as the representatives – like sheep – all sat down without need for further prompting. Silence filled the auditorium for long seconds, and the President straightened to adopt a more formal image. "On the occasions where I have spoken to the citizens of this great Alliance, it is often to pause and reflect upon the great things that our nations have achieved." Taking a brief pause, he let the silence hang again for several long seconds. "But sometimes, it is not always the great things that define our history or our times. Over the past few days, we have witnessed turbulent and frightening examples of how the _difference of opinion_ can lead to great tragedy. _Difference of opinion," _he repeated with a degree of emphasis. "It is the defining cornerstone of democracy; the freedom of expression; that which makes us a civilized society. For many years, such differences have driven us to a fine line of uncertainty with the United Earth Oceans, all because they were unwilling to listen to that expression of freedom. On the 7th of this month, that line was finally crossed."

Silence met the heavy onset of his speech. It was a tense air in the chambers of the parliament. "On the 7th of November, the United Earth Oceans flagship _Atlantis ASV 8100 _fired on and destroyed 4 Macronesian submarines in the cold waters of the northern Pacific. In no way had these vessels threatened the Atlantis, and in no way had they intruded on UEO waters. This inexcusable act of hostility was avoidable, and despite the grave nature of the incident, our questions to the highest levels of the UEO received no answer. This is not the first time such incidents have occurred. For nearly 10 years, we have stood on this precipice, looking out at an uncertain future. Yes… the shots had been fired many times before," said Bourne with an almost reminiscing tone. "…But every time," he continued. "Macronesia and the United Earth Oceans were willing to rise to the occasion and our _differences _were solved with diplomacy; and the open hand of friendship."

A light applause met the sentence, and the President allowed it to continue for several seconds. "We have offered them this open hand once more," he said; aiming to bring a close to his speech. "…And we were answered with silence."

Accenting his point, Bourne – always the master puppeteer – once again let the heavy comment hang over the auditorium. "Several hours ago," he said quietly, allowing the microphone to project his voice to the audience, "We responded. Just hours ago, I conferred with the Chief Commanders of the Navy, Marine Corps, Airforce and Army. I listened to their recommendations, and a decision was reached. The missile attack on the UEO's San Francisco naval base on Tiburon Peninsula was a measured response," he finally confessed. "No longer will we sit by idly as the UEO dictates policy for millions of Macronesian citizens across the Pacific. No longer will the families of our servicemen and women have to receive letters explaining how their sons and daughters died for a cause that does not exist. And _no longer," _he said with finality, "…will we listen to that silence within. A line in the sand has been drawn," the President declared with growing passion. "In defence of Australia and her allies, and in defence of the Macronesian Alliance, it is with a sad heart that I ask the council to declare a state of war on the United Earth Oceans."

Thunder boomed throughout the auditorium as a standing ovation met Bourne's speech. For seconds that seemed an eternity, Alexander Bourne stared out over the diplomats and representatives of the Macronesian Alliance, and knew that he had committed himself to history. Yes… he would write history. And he would see to it that it looked upon him favourably.

  

**United Earth Oceans Headquarters, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 11th, 2040…**

Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley fought his way through the sea of media reporters outside the UEO Headquarters and struggled to fight back the torrential downpour of questions that were being thrown at him. Macronesia's declaration of war had been expected, but it didn't change the fact that the UEO was totally unprepared for it. And right now, he _was _the UEO.

"_Mister Secretary! How do you respond to President Alexander Bourne-"_

"_Sir! Sir! What do you have to say about-"_

Dallinsley shook his head, holding up his hands and doing the best he could to answer the questions with generic responses that would hopefully cover everything they were asking. "I assure you all that Macronesia's allegations are totally unfounded. The UEO does not attack civilians, and there will be a full inquiry in to the actions of the Atlantis at Nintoku."

"Sir, how do you expect the UEO will respond to Macronesia's declaration?"

Dallinsley felt like punching that particular reporter in the face. What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?_ 'Declaration?' _Propaganda was more like it. Bourne's entire speech had been an expensive media show and nothing more. He had already declared war the second he bombed San Francisco. "Other avenues of diplomatic resolution are being investigated," he said simply. In truth, he meant nothing by the statement… but he was most interested to see just how much the inquisitive reporter would over-analyse the response in to an elaborate and mind-blowing headline for the tabloids.

"Mister Secretary, do you feel the actions of Captain Ainsley-"

Dallinsley stopped just before his limousine that was waiting to take him to the airport and faced all the reporters, holding up his hands to ask for some understanding… _at the very least. _"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry but this is not a good time. There _will _be a press conference at a later time at which point I will personally answer any questions you may have. But I am late for a meeting with the Joint Chiefs and do not have the time for any more questions. Thank you."

Stepping in to the Limousine, the reporters were still trying to get answers to a multitude of questions, most of which sounded like they'd been written for a two year old. He took a long sigh of relief as the secret serviceman outside closed the door of the car, and without any delay what-so-ever it began to drive off down the street under the escort of a full police convoy. The whole world had gone mad.

…Captain Ainsley was in a foul mood. If looks could kill, then he would have no trouble bringing down the entire Macronesian Alliance by himself. Bourne had actually declared war, and Ainsley sincerely doubted whether or not the UEO could survive the approaching storm. Outgunned by over 4 to 1, if Macronesia decided to go on an all-out offensive, then he knew that there was no force in the Pacific that could stop them. Adding to his troubles, there was still one other thing that deeply bothered him; the seaQuest. In anyone else's eyes, the entire matter would simply be another tragic incident in a decade marked by cold war. But in his 30 years of naval service, Ainsley had learned to see patterns quite clearly. And this time; the math was not adding up.

Sitting quietly in his quarters, the Captain stared at the blank computer monitor atop his desk. The battle was over, but the war had not yet begun; and he still had one last card to play. Finally, he turned the computer on, logged on, and brought up a secured communications channel. Searching through a long list of names, he found the one he was looking for and accessed it. Unseen by human eyes, the computer began routing the signal through the Atlantis's Strategic Operations Center, and was then relayed off numerous core UEO communications servers, bypassing every link in the chain of the command… and going straight to the office of Admiral Nathan Bridger. All Ainsley had to worry about was whether or not the Admiral would be in his office. While he waited, Ainsley pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper, and started to write…

Commander James Banick was in an equally disgusting mood. Heading to the airlock, he was now on leave… effective the second he stepped foot outside the submarine. Atlantis was moored at Pearl Harbor's 'Aries' ASV submarine base; moored at either side were smaller sub-carriers Victorious and Ark Royal. They had insisted on 'escorting' the Atlantis back to Hawaii. Banick knew only too well that when fleet command had to escort one of its own ships in to base for reasons of insecurity, there was going to be some very serious questions asked. He had known Captain Ainsley for 6 years, and had grown to both respect and admire the man… but if the past was any indication, Banick felt a quiet sadness in the fact that the Captain's career was most likely over.

The Atlantis XO stopped as he came to the airlock and the quartermaster who was in the office beside it. Signing several forms, he slung his bag over his shoulder and got ready to leave. He didn't get far however as he heard footsteps on the metal grates behind him. As Banick stopped to see who it was, Captain Ainsley sighed. "Heads are going to roll today, Commander."

"Anyone we know, sir?"

"Let's just say that it's not too late for us to resign our commissions."

Stepping on to the long, submerged boarding bridge, the two officers noticed a pair of UEO marines standing at the end of it, nodding and talking about some unheard subject. Red bands around their arms with the letters "MP" said they were military police. Ainsley shook his head with a smug grin. He'd been expecting this. Banick looked warily at his Captain, suspecting the worst, and seemed hesitant to continue.

"Captain Ainsley?" asked one of the soldiers. Looking at his rank insignia, Ainsley noticed he was a Corporal.

"Yes Corporal?"

The marines looked at each other helplessly before the Corporal turned back to the Naval Captain and shook his head apologetically. The other marine, a private, was reaching for a pair of handcuffs that hung from his belt. "I'm sorry, sir. The call came in about 15 minutes ago..."

"I thought it might," said Ainsley, taking a step forward. He looked cautiously at the Private with the restraints, and then back to the Corporal with a knowing smile. "You won't have any trouble, Corporal. I'll go with you peacefully."

The Corporal seemed hesitant at first, and then nodded to the Private, giving a silent 'Ok'. The private put the cuffs back on his belt without much prompting. "Thank you, sir. We don't like this any more you do… You'll have to come with us."

"Can I ask what the warrant says?"

The Corporal didn't even have to unfold his orders to answer the question, and he looked quite glum. "It falls under Article 20 Section 12 of UEO Command regulations, and Article 20 Section 8 of NSC Command regulations, sir; Dereliction of duty and Treason respectively."

Banick's jaw fell slack. _"Treason!" _he repeated incredibly.

"I'm sorry, Commander… This one comes straight from the top," said the Marine. "I'm only following orders."

"-That's fine, Corporal," said Ainsley quickly; interjecting before Banick managed to cross the line. The Captain looked at his Executive officer… something in his eye made Banick frown. "First drawer, my quarters: In the study. Follow it carefully."

The Marines looked like they were getting slightly agitated. They had been very patient to that point, and quite reasonable (Much to their credit, thought Ainsley) but he was not about to argue the point. "This way, sir," said the Corporal, motioning down the docking bridge that led to the main Aries complex. Flanked by the two marines, Captain Ainsley was led away leaving Banick to ponder the Captain's final instructions. Perhaps shore leave would have to wait…


	5. Surface Tension

**V**

**Surface Tension**

**United Earth Oceans Aires ASV Fleet Yards, UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 11th, 2040…**

Commander James Banick input his security override code to the Captain's quarters – the doors were double, classically styled and made from oak. The craftsmanship was quite remarkable for a warship designed and constructed in a day where style was largely given over to utility. The door unlocked when he put in his code, and very quickly he headed for the study and opened the first drawer in the large desk found there. The drawer was empty, except for one file clearly marked "James Banick". With curiosity, Banick opened the file and began to read.

The first page was nothing special. It merely stated the Atlantis' mission orders, but the second page however, was a letter from the Captain outlining what the folder held. It was hand written.

_Jim, if you are reading this, then I've been relieved of command. In this file are my orders to you and the crew…_

Turning the page, he found a surprise; on an otherwise blank piece of paper was a series of 10 letters and numbers spelled out in phonetic-long-form along with a typical DNA-encoded command key. He quietly recited the number aloud as he considered what it could be._ "Alpha nine three seven bravo tango…"_

The obvious answer was so inconceivable that it had not even occurred to him. These were the nuclear launch codes for the Atlantis's strategic armament of twenty Triton-IV ICBMs! Quickly pocketing the key, Banick went back to the letter and kept reading.

…_Enclosed, you will find my command key and the strategic launch and authentication codes for the ship's weaponry. I have spoken personally with Admiral Bridger regarding the events of the past week, and his authorization can be found under UEO command dispatch 11-11-41-992. The DNA encoding on the key has been re-processed to recognise Commander Canebride as an executive officer. I have waived the possibility of giving these instructions to Commander Callaghan, as I know you trust Natalie, and I can only trust who you can. See that she gets this key. I left a similar file with her…_

Banick quickly took the key and put it in his pocket. What Captain Ainsley had just done perhaps bordered as the single most illegal breach of naval regulations in the book. The actual authentication codes for the nuclear weapons stored on a submarine were known to only a handful of people – the President, Secretary General and the most senior officers on the boat. Typically; the Captain and the Executive Officer. With so much destructive power on the submarine, it was unthinkable to leave the authority to launch the nukes with any one person, and in order to fire them, the submarine would have to receive an explicit order quoting that same authentication code straight from the Secretary General of the UEO. Being the Atlantis's first officer, Banick already had a key, but why give a launch key to Canebride? And what did Admiral Bridger have to do with it?

The launch command keys were only given out to the Captain and Executive officer and were coded with their specific DNA. This meant it was impossible for anyone but these two officers to actually initiate a nuclear launch. Should anything happen that was not considered 'by the book' procedure, the keys would become invalid, and the ship's fire computer systems would automatically lock out missile control. By re-coding his own key, Ainsley had ensured that the keys would remain active in the event of a new commanding officer coming aboard, meaning that the nuclear weapons aboard the ASV were now utterly useless.

Banick didn't know what to do. On one hand, Mark Ainsley was the most renowned captain in the fleet, and he trusted the man with his life. But on the other hand, this 'request' violated every single regulation he could think of. The charge and specification of "treason" would look like petty theft in comparison. If Banick or Canebride were caught, their careers, if not lives, would be effectively over.

If not for country, how far would James Banick go for his Captain?

Picking up the key again, he made up his mind… Putting the key in his jumpsuit's top pocket, he quickly left the Captain's quarters, closing and locking the doors behind him. Yes, this was war… But who the enemy was he had absolutely no idea.

  

Aries base technicians ran around madly, working to finalize the final systems aboard Atlantis that had been left incomplete before her first deployment. In one way, the shakedown cruise being cut short was a good thing, as it gave the engineers a lot more time to do their work. Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens was rapidly finding that keeping the submarine's engineering systems online was a full-time chore. Now that the rest of his engineering staff had finally arrived, maybe the job would be that much easier. One of the many systems now finally being installed was the Atlantis Mag-Lev; a horizontal, "Magnetically Levitated" 'train' system powered by electro-magnets that ran the length of the massive submarine. Walking the length of a 488 meter-long sub continuously over the expanse of a dozen decks was not an easy task, even for those who were fit, and Mag-Lev made getting around considerably easier.

Stevens looked up from his work on the Mag-Lev to face one of his engineers. "Ok, that's it, let's try it now."

Stepping back from the Mag-Lev, Stevens heard the hum of the big electromagnets as the car was raised just above the guide-rails. Not so much so you could see it of course, but from his diagnostics equipment, he was relieved to see that everything was working as planned. The Mag-Lev system had 4 long magnetic rails on the roof and floor of the tunnel that suspended the car in between them that allowed it to run the length of the ship without the hassle of cables. Humming quietly, the car stood perfectly still and Stevens smiled. "Ok, I think we did it. Excellent work! Now let me just check-"

Stevens was cut off as he heard his name being called from down the hall. Looking up, he saw Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride running toward him, her feet ringing loudly over the metal-grated deck. "Chief!"

Stevens smiled at her. She was extraordinarily attractive; there was no doubt about that. He didn't blame Commander Banick for feeling the way he did. Canebride seemed flushed, and even distressed. "Yes, Commander?"

She didn't return the smile. "Commander Banick has asked for you to meet him in the briefing room in 5 minutes with the rest of the senior staff."

Stevens sighed, being disgruntled at the prospect of a briefing in the middle of his shift. He didn't like meetings; the Academy had tried to make him an officer, but had declined on numerous occasions. He liked the freedom that came from being an enlisted sailor, and it saved him the trouble of a lot of unnecessary paperwork. His pay rate was the same as an officer anyway. "I hope it's important."

Canebride did not look amused. "_Chief_ _Stevens…" _she said, opting to pull rank on the issue. "Briefing room… _5 minutes._"

Stevens shrugged in defeat. If there was one thing he _didn't _like about being enlisted, it was the fact that any officer – even Ensigns – could pull rank on him and there was very little he could do about it. "Ok, but he and I are having words later on. I don't like leaving work unfinished." Stevens turned to the tech crew again. "Make sure you check the top rails. I don't want this thing turning in to a roller coaster with no brakes. Understood?"

The tech crew shrugged as if he'd already considered the possibility. "Sure, Chief. Whatever you want. We'll have it running like a charm, sir."

"Good. I'll be back soon... I don't intend to let this take long."

Stevens looked curiously at Canebride as they headed down the hall. Her fine features held an air of tension and authority in them. He had never seen her quite so drawn. "Commander, are you at least going to tell me what this is about?"

She returned the expression as they continued to walk towards the bow through the network of corridors that made up the Atlantis's complex, but well-planned interior. Every sector was clearly marked and it was very easy to find what you were looking for. "Captain Ainsley has been arrested for treason."

The Engineer smiled nonchalantly. He didn't believe a word of it. "Ha-Ha. Very funny, now what is _really _going on?"

Canebride pulled out a PDA she had been carrying and handed it to the engineer. He read the newspaper headline that was displayed across it. It was an extract from the Honolulu Times. "_ASV Captain arrested for treason…_ My god, you're serious aren't you?"

Canebride shook her head. "I pulled that from Fleet Intelligence. It hasn't even hit the news stands yet. But it will be all over the media soon."

"Sweet Jesus."

"Tell me about it."

A few minutes later, the two stepped in to the briefing room, having walked the length of the ship and scaled several stairwells to reach B-deck. Stevens was not exactly surprised to see Commander Callaghan, Lieutenant Phillips and Commander Gabriel Hitchcock, the senior ranking fighter pilot on the Atlantis all present around the table. Banick, who as conspicuously seated at the head of the table didn't really move to greet him. "Nice to see you made it Chief. Have a seat."

As Canebride and Stevens sat down, Banick wasted no time in getting to the point. "I know this is pretty unorthodox… so I do apologise. But I've called you all here to discuss something that's… well… important. As of 10 minutes ago, Captain Ainsley was arrested for treason."

Everyone seated at the table, short of Natalie Canebride and Chief Stevens who already knew about it, simply looked at him in stunned silence. Stevens realised that Banick had clearly not told them until that point.

"Treason… Sir, you can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," said Banick coldly. "I was there when the MPs arrested him."

"How the hell didn't we know about it?" asked Wing Commander Hitchcock, who looked more than slightly baffled.

"I got the impression that the Captain wanted to keep this low key. In his absence of course, I'm in command… And I decided that it would be best to tell you; the officers first, before the crew found out."

"When are you going to tell them?"

"As soon as this is over," said Banick. "But in fairness, I didn't think you would want your respective subordinates bombarding you with questions to which you had no answers."

Callaghan stroked his goatee contemplatively. Funnily enough, thought Banick, he didn't really know Callaghan that well. Yes, they were getting to be quite friendly as time went on, but he still knew next to nothing about the man's past; nor did anyone else in the room. His personnel file, for whatever reason, was not available with the rest of the crew's.

"Commander, Isn't treason a little… extreme? Under UEO international law, he did nothing wrong… except for when he disobeyed orders to return to Pearl Harbor… I could possibly see a dereliction of duty charge in there."

"He's up for that as well," said Banick simply, and needing to say very little more.

"Oh."

"In any event, that's what we're here to discuss," continued Banick. "Yes, you are quite right, under UEO law he did _nothing _wrong. But it wasn't the UEO that put him up on the charges. It was the NSC."

"What?" asked Lieutenant Phillips; "The North Sea Confederation? What for?"

"Well, as you know… Captain Ainsley is an officer of the Royal Navy, and falls under British command. Technically speaking, the Captain caused a war with Macronesia without consulting his superiors in London, and the NSC is holding him accountable for that."

"You've got to be absolutely kidding me… That's ridiculous. Surely the Secretary General would have overridden that."

"Secretary Dallinsley is a part of the problem," observed Banick quietly. "In fact, it was the Secretary General who recommended the British to make that decision in the first place."

Total silence met Banick's stunning card. What the Commander had just said implicated the Secretary General of the UEO in a conspiracy, and _that_ was treason. "Are you sure?" asked Hitchcock, wanting to make sure he covered all the bases before throwing himself in the fire. "That's one hell of an accusation."

"I've seen the letter," said Banick again. "Before he was arrested, the Captain apparently spoke to Admiral Bridger, pulled some strings, and gave us the mother-load on the whole deal. The Secretary General needs a scape goat to pin the blame for this war, and they can't nail the Captain for it under UEO regulations. Hell, they couldn't even if they tried. NORPAC absolutely loves him. He became a public hero overnight when we sank those Orions. Just read the tabloids; he's the man who's going to kill Bourne by all accounts. He's the Captain who's willing to stand up and flip the bird at Macronesia. So the Secretary General is getting the NSC to do the crucifixion for him."

"…They can't do that," protested Callaghan. "We're testifying in his defence when the time comes, right?"

"No, we're not," said Banick regretfully, and with his voice laced with venom. "I received instructions from JAG that we'll be expected to submit written testimonies to the convening board of inquiry before we ship out."

"Under whose orders?" spat Callaghan.

"…The Secretary General," said Banick again; totally unsurprised.

"Oh how convenient," replied the tactical officer with disgusted sarcasm. "They need to nail him for this, so they are making sure that everyone who can defend his actions won't be available."

"There's more," explained Banick. "Tomorrow, along with our newest helm officer, we're scheduled to get a new Captain. He goes by the name of Randbrough."

Hitchcock looked pained at mention of the name. _"Arnold _Randbrough?" he asked

"Yes, I believe so. Why? Do you know him?"

"Unfortunately," mumbled Hitchcock. "He was the Captain of one of my assignments a few years back. I don't think I've ever met a bigger asshole – pardon my French –"

"_Trou de cul," _corrected Canebride with a wry smile.

"Excuse me?"

"Trou de cul," she repeated in flawlessly articulated French. She was born in Orléans in France, and while she didn't advertise the fact, it wasn't too hard to tell from her accent. "It's French for 'asshole'."

Hitchcock grinned. "I'll have to remember that. But as I was saying… I don't think I've met a bigger ass in my entire life."

"Who the hell gave us this jarhead?" asked Callaghan again.

"Take a wild guess."

"…Oh… _shit."_

  

**Ford Island, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 12th, 2040…**

Crossing the Ford Island Bridge, Captain Arnold Randbrough sat in the front passenger seat of a UEO Hummer, staring out at the bright blue waters of Pearl Harbor. Randbrough was a 30 year veteran of the navy at age 49, and had seen it all… Or so he believed.He was looking forward to this new assignment, no matter how much of a media-bash it was getting. There was quite literally nothing larger than an Atlantis class ASV, and he doubted that there ever would be. They were the first and last of their kind. From everything he'd heard, the crew of the Atlantis – in particular, the senior staff - were fanatically loyal to their former commander, Mark Ainsley, (a man whom he had little time for) but Randbrough knew that sorting that problem out would be a very minor matter indeed. Anyone who didn't tow the line under his command would find themselves transferred faster than they could sign their own name. Sitting behind him, Lieutenant Commander Madeline Hayes rode in the back seat in silence. She hadn't said much, which was fine by him. Her father was an Admiral in the UEO fleet, and it was a position that afforded her a few concessions. Silently, he wondered just what strings had been pulled to get Hayes aboard the Atlantis. He didn't like favouritism, and he had no compunction against reassigning Hayes should she prove to be nothing more than baggage. Randbrough had been given the Atlantis by Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley himself, after a good deal of controversy regarding Captain Ainsley's decision to attack and destroy several Alliance attack submarines. Frankly, Randbrough would have done the same thing in Ainsley's position… but he doubted that would be an issue any longer.

Pulling up outside the Aries yard's administration building, the 2 officers stepped out of the Hummer and began heading up to the naval docks. Randbrough returned the salutes of various officers as he passed and then entered the building.

The Aries facility was one of the largest on Ford Island, and for good reason. It was built to service up to three ASVs at a time, and being able to totally dry dock up to two of them. Each ASV was nearly 500 meters long by nearly 300 meters wide which meant that the facility covered an area of approximately half of Ford Island. That made them the single largest custom-built construction base on the face of the planet. It had taken a mammoth effort of dredging, and a huge portion of the Island had been totally removed to accommodate the base.

Entering the boarding facility, Randbrough was pleased to see that the majority of the Atlantis's officers and much of her crew had gathered in rank formation outside their submarine pending an inspection from the new commander. At least they had some degree of discipline, mused Randbrough quietly. The one who appeared to be the boat's XO, James Banick was at the front of the formation. _"Attention!" _he barked.

The ranks of sailors snapped their heels together with a loud, reverberating staccato that echoed throughout the cavernous, sheltered docking area of the submarine base, and Banick saluted as the Captain approached. He returned the salute and Banick introduced himself without delay. "I'm Commander James Banick, sir. Ship's XO. All senior staff are present or accounted for, sir."

Randbrough merely nodded. At least Banick had respect for superiors. "Good," he said gruffly. Working his jaw for a moment, the Captain cast his eye over the assembled crew. "As your new Captain," he began, "I'd like to say what an honour it is to take command of this great vessel. I consider myself a fair man, but I tolerate no misconduct. I know you were possibly growing accustomed to a relaxed style of command under your previous Captain, but let me make myself clear; any and all actions of insubordination will be dealt with swiftly and severely. I run a tight ship, and I expect that there will be no problems with this arrangement. Every report I've read suggests that you are the best crew in the fleet… so prove it. That is all. You are dismissed!"

Banick exchanged a slightly shocked glance with Canebride and raised an eyebrow. Randbrough, it seemed, was definitely – to quote Canebride – a _"Trou de cul." _If he ran the ship like this all the time, there would probably be a mutiny. Much to Banick's dismay, the Captain caught his sceptical expression and his lip curled."Is there a problem, Commander?"

"No, Captain, not at all."

Randbrough came almost threateningly close and his weathered but fiery eyes bore into the younger man. Despite that, Banick did not flinch. "Good. Listen, Commander, I'm familiar with your reputation; Striking superior officers… insubordination… You've had a colourful career from all accounts. I just hope for your sake that you've taken a new approach to life, Because if I have to say anything to you that is not an order, I'm going to chew you up and you'll be off this boat faster than you can blink. Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

Banick nodded and nothing more. If Randbrough wanted to be an ass, so could he. "Perfectly clear, sir."

"Good. If that's the case, then I'm sure you and I will get along just fine. I expect a full report on shipboard activities on my desk by 19:00 Zulu."

With that, the stiff-collared Captain headed off to the boarding gantry, and when Banick was satisfied that he was no longer under the Captain's gaze, he widened his eyes and sighed to Canebride. "_Well…_"

Canebride tried to hide a smug grin unsuccessfully. "A man of very few words, it seems."

"These are going to be the longest days of my life."

Before Canebride could reply, Banick suddenly became aware of someone standing at ease next to him. She wore the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander, her brown hair pulled back in a tight Bun at the bottom of her skull. He could tell straight away by looking at her rigid and unwavering demeanour that she may very well have transferred from Randbrough's previous command, or at least ways seen enough of his 'unique' command style to know the system. "Lieutenant Commander Madeline Hayes reporting for duty, sir."

Banick raised an eyebrow and waved her away. Her politeness was a pleasant change from the drill-sergeant Captain who had just arrived. "At ease, Commander. There's no need to be so formal. I'm Commander James Banick."

He extended his hand, and she took it warily, looking somewhat surprised at Banick's laid back attitude. She was someone who had clearly been around one too many people like Randbrough. "I believe you're our newest helm officer. Is that right, Commander?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Well then, may I introduce Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride, 3rd officer, and our _other _Helmsman – She's your opposite on the bridge. You'll probably be seeing more of her."

"Ma'am," said Hayes formally, nodding respectfully.

"It's good to meet you, Commander. I can show you to your quarters if you like. Then we'll let you get settled in."

Hayes nodded gratefully, and for a moment, Banick swore that he saw the hint of a smile beneath her otherwise expressionless features. "Dismissed, Commander."

"Thank you, sir."

Canebride looked at him again with amusement, almost as if reading his thoughts. She then led Hayes away, leaving Banick to stand alone on the dockside, looking around idly. He took off his uniform baseball cap and rubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be utter hell…

  

**Honolulu City, Hawaii. UEO Judge Advocate General Headquarters. November 13th, 2040…**

It was a media circus outside the UEO's JAG courthouse. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of reporters were gathered outside the building to gather whatever information they could on absolutely anything to do with the infamous UEO Captain who had started a war with the Macronesian Alliance. In full service dress and flanked by UEO Security officers and his Attorney, Mark Ainsley was escorted through the crowds of media from the hummer that had dropped them off, to the foyer of the courthouse. It was a strange feeling, considered Ainsley. Almost every set of eyes was looking at _him_ with suspicion, mistrust and intrigue.

Dozens of reporters put microphones and cameras in to the Attorney's face. Questions ranged from the protective to insulting, and the Captain felt like he was the centrepiece of a zoo specializing in endangered species. "Excuse me, sir! A moment of your time? What exactly is the list of charges against Captain Ainsley?"

The Attorney, Commander Ben Adler, was a long time friend of Ainsley's. They had met many years previously when both of them were a lot younger than they were now. "We can't say at this point in time."

"Mister Adler! This is a court martial that has a rather extensive list of charges. Will the Captain be pleading guilty?"

Adler shook his head. "This is a hearing… not a trial. No comment."

"Captain Ainsley! Is it true that-" Ainsley shook his head, ignoring the reporter and heading up the stairs at the front of the building. Adler however stopped and took a minute to put the rabble to rest.

"Look, right now my client has a good deal on his mind. There will be time for questions at a later date, but not now."

As usual, despite his 'request,' the media continued to press for answers. Adler too turned his back on the reporters and hurried up the stairs to Ainsley's side once more. "Thanks, Ben," said the Captain under his breath. "I could be a lot worse off if I didn't have you here."

Despite the most abysmal situations, Ben Adler was always a man of quick and light-hearted wit. Today was no exception. "Well, you _are_ charged with treason, among other things. I don't see how much worse it could get."

Ainsley smirked. "Remind me never to compliment you again…"

  

"All rise. Admiral Timothy Locke presiding."

The sound of scrapping chairs as people came to their feet came as a UEO Admiral, mid 50s, and wearing dress uniform entering the court. Sitting down, the Admiral looked around the room, nodding politely to Ainsley, and then cleared his throat. "Be seated."

Sitting back down again, Ainsley leaned over and whispered in to Adler's ear as the lawyer sighed quietly. "Something wrong?"

"Admiral Locke," he said. "I wasn't expecting this guy. We were supposed to get Jennifer Bellman. Locke and I don't exactly get along..."

The Admiral looked down at his papers, sorting through them a moment as he familiarized himself with everything he had to deal with, and then looked back up to the court. "Will the defence council please rise."

Obediently, Ainsley and Adler stood up quietly. "Captain Mark Ainsley, this hearing is _not _a trial as you are aware. But it will determine whether or not the case in question has sufficient reason to convene a general court martial. May I just say for the record, Captain, your reputation precedes you. The court recognises your exemplary service record to the UEO Navy, and this will be considered with the rest of the evidence. This hearing is now in session."

And then the hammer came down.

  

**UEO Aires Fleet Yards, Ford Island, Pearl Harbor. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 13th, 2040…**

The briefing room was once again packed with the officers of the Atlantis's senior staff. Captain Randbrough stood at the front of the room. His uniform looked so sharp that Banick swore he wouldn't at all look out of place wearing a pith helmet and jackboots. "As you know," said the Captain sternly, "the Macronesian Alliance has formally declared war on the UEO. As of 0900 this morning, the fleet went to code-one alert and began operating under wartime operational regulations. We're being put on the frontline as soon as repairs are complete. We ship out this evening."

Banick exchanged a wary look with the other officers, and then faced the Captain. "Sir, we actually wanted to discuss that if that was alright with you."

"By all means, Commander. Speak your mind," said Randbrough with a hint of wariness. He had undoubtedly seen the subtle exchange between the officers, and was probably curious what the problem was.

"Well, sir… I know we've all given written testimonies to JAG, but if there is a chance we will be called as witnesses during Captain Ainsley's hearing-"

Randbrough shook his head. "That won't be happening," he said bluntly.

The comment was enough to take Banick completely off his guard. 'Not happening'? What the hell was that meant to mean? "Sir… how can you be sure?"

"You don't bring someone up on the charge of treason without a damned good reason to do so," said the Captain tersely. "I sincerely doubt you will be called to the stand, Commander… And our orders come from Command, so there is very little we can do about it."

The Captain was about to move on to other topics, but Banick was hardly finished and interjected again. This annoyed Randbrough immensely. "Captain, with respect… there _are _regulations that will likely mean we will be called to testify. I feel very strongly that we should be available should that happen."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Commander… but we are at _war; _a war that Captain Ainsley started. This ship is headed to the frontline the _minute _we have finished bringing about supplies, and there is very little that is going to change that."

The Captain looked flustered, and deciding not to push his luck, Banick remained quiet. That would not stop him from filing an official protest in the ship's log however. "We've been ordered to the Macronesian Border north east of the Tonga Trench," explained the Captain. "From there, we are to commence a patrol up and down the Central Pacific Basin. Our primary objective will be to provide regional battlegroups with fighter support as the UEO moves to fortify the Phoenix Islands. Aquarius left on her Shakedown cruise 3 days ago and will join us there. Chief Petty Officer Stevens; I understand that the engines had a few problems during your first deployment?"

The engineer, known for being rather 'casual' in his duties, did the best job he could in putting aside those tendencies. He doubted very much that Randbrough would let such 'informal' behaviour slip by. "Urrm, Yes sir. The electromagnetic coolant systems in the number 4 and 6 turbines kept overheating and producing cavitation. We couldn't run those engines past 75 percent in case we damaged the turbines. I've got engineering details from Pearl Harbor having another look at the flow stabilizers… They said they should have it fixed by the end of the day."

Randbrough nodded in approval; much to Banick's surprise. So far, the Captain had done very little to encourage the crew's work. "Excellent work, Mister Stevens. I'll expect a full report once the repairs are complete. Commander Callaghan? What are our weapons and EVA assets looking like at this stage?"

Ryan Callaghan sighed. "We're taking aboard the last of the torpedo stocks now. That gives us about 400 live weapons both in the tubes, and in the ship's stores. The rest of our EVA crews will arrive at 1300 this afternoon, and the sub-fighter corps' torpedo stocks have been fully loaded. We're carrying roughly a thousand mark 95 and mark 96 plasma warheads for a full combat wing of 72 SF-2s and SF-37s. Right now, we're loading about 1800 tonnes of 30-millimeter-"

"You can spare me the finer details, Commander," observed Randbrough flatly. "Just a simple summary will suffice. You can include the rest in your official report."

"I thought this _was_ my official report, sir," replied Callaghan cautiously. "Captain Ainsley usually just-"

"I'm not Captain Ainsley," said Randbrough with an edge of impatience. "I expect daily reports_, on paper,_ from every department head on this boat."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir… Yes; our weapons status is good. All up, we'll be looking at a total weapons load of about 2000 tonnes, sir. That excludes the ammunition from the Marine garrison."

"And that comes to?"

"1250 tonnes, sir."

"…So we have 3250 tonnes of ammunition in total… enough for a 6 month tour of duty..." summarised Randbrough. "Excellent. I'll want to speak with your Marine CO when he's available… Major… _Cortez_ wasn't it?"

"Yes sir," confirmed Callaghan. "The Major couldn't be here today, he had prior arrangements."

"Fine," said Randbrough, totally uncaring. "I dislike having an entire company of marines aboard my boat, Commander. They are a nuisance and have a habit of interfering with operations. This is a warship; not a troop transport. As chief tactical officer, I am holding you personally responsible for everything those ground pounders do. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Captain Randbrough said nothing as he looked down at his PDA and scrolled down the page, reading what else was on his agenda for the day's proceedings. He frowned as he came to a point he didn't like, and looked unhappily at Wing Commander Hitchcock. "Ah yes… Wing Commander. I understand that _you _may be able to explain this… Loaded aboard under the watch of harbour Quartermaster Harry F. Darson on November 6th at 1422 hours; 184 gallons of 'intoxicating liquor' including but not limited to Spirits, Vodka, Beer and Wine delivered to and stored in cargo hold six at the request of Wing Commander Gabriel J. Hitchcock… Do you care to explain this?"

Hitchcock raised an eyebrow, noticing out the corner of his eye the amused grins of Banick, Hayes, Canebride and Callaghan. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. Is there a problem?"

"Perhaps I was too subtle, Wing Commander. Let me rephrase… What the _hell _is 800 litres of alcohol doing on this ship? I want it gone."

"With respect, Captain… as Commanding officer of the ship's Subfighter wing, it _is _my prerogative to bring aboard Alcohol for regulated consumption within my command."

"And as the Captain of this _ship,_ Commander, I say what is and is not permitted aboard. The idea of several hundred of your pilots under the influence of alcohol is not exactly a thought that I enjoy entertaining."

"Captain… I mean no disrespect, but you will find it is common throughout the fleet that navy pilots in particular find alcohol to be a particularly effective way of maintaining morale. We are on a _submarine, _sir. We spend months away from home without ever seeing the light of day, operate under the most stressful and dangerous conditions of any person enlisted in the service, and face the very real possibility that whenever we sit in a cockpit of a subfighter, we may not be coming back. If a mere 184 gallons of Alcohol is enough to keep nearly 300 of my pilots happy and alive, I don't see a problem with it."

Randbrough worked his jaw. The man had a very short temper, and it was taking every bit of self control he had to maintain his cool. When he gave an order, he did not expect to be lectured by a subordinate officer – even if it was a Wing Commander who had more renown in the fleet than any other pilot alive. Banick repressed a satisfied smirk at the fact that Hitchcock was not about to be slapped down by the pompous Captain. "Then let me make myself _very _clear, Wing Commander," said Randbrough almost threateningly. "If I receive _one _report of misconduct involving one of _your _pilots involving alcohol… I will relieve you of your command and have you thrown in the brig faster than you can say your own damned rank."

"And I'd expect you to hold me to that, sir."

"Randbrough was at the end of his tether of patience. He had had enough; much to Wing Commander Hitchcock's delight. "Fine…" he said, getting up from the desk. "That's enough for today. You're all dismissed. I want to see your reports on my desk by the end of the day, without exception."

Banick was the first to get up, and was only too eager to get out of the stuffy room. With a quick "Sir," not wanting to agitate the Captain any further, he made a fast exit with Natalie Canebride close behind. Ryan Callaghan however was not quite as fortunate as the Captain signalled him out before he could even stand up.

"Before you go, Mister Callaghan," he said sternly. "…The next time I see you on the bridge, I expect you will be _clean shaven. _And that was not a request. You are a senior officer, and _goatees _are not regulation dress code."

Callaghan bit his lip. "…Yes sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant Commander."

The tactical officer nodded silently, leaving the briefing room quickly and stroking his soon-to-be ex-beard. Madeline Hayes was not far behind, and she quietly leaned up to his ear in the hallway and whispered. "Shame," she said. "I thought the beard was sort of cute…"

Banick waited around the corner until all the officers – Randbrough included – dispersed, leaving him alone to quickly usher Canebride aside. "Natalie, Can I have a moment?"

She nodded slowly, and followed Banick down the corridor. Quickly checking around the hall to make sure the area was clear of anyone who may overhear them; Banick took on a very serious guise of concern and looked at her. "Before he was arrested, Captain Ainsley left a file in his quarters for me. He made some… pretty big calls, and asked quite a bit in terms of favours."

"That's putting it lightly," she observed, Banick recalling that she had been left a similar file. "What did he ask you to do?"

Banick pulled down the collar of his white turtleneck skivvy and pulled out a chain that was concealed beneath it. On it was a key; his nuclear authorization key. Canebride clenched her jaw as she noticed a _second_ key on the chain "He left me with his missile control key."

She was cautious as she looked around to make sure no one was listening or watching. "I don't see why, with the DNA coding, it's useless to you... That's assuming he wanted you to _use_ it."

The older Commander nodded as he unclipped the second key from the chain and held it out in his hand. "I know. He had it re-encoded with _your_ DNA."

She was shocked. "_Me? _He didn't mention that in the letter he left on my desk…"

"Under the circumstances, you and I were the only ones he could trust," Banick explained quietly. "Something's going on here, Natalie. I don't know what yet… but keep an open eye."

Canebride gingerly took the key and hastily stuffed it in to her jumpsuit pocket. James looked her in the eyes. His gaze was gentle, but at the same time, incredibly fierce. "Take care of it. I just hope you don't need it."

"…I'm scared, Jim," she said with anxiety.

"I know," he replied, taking her hands gently with his. "So am I."



Dusk had come to the warm waters of Hawaii; the pleasant red glow of the sun setting over the tropical horizon sent rays of golden light piercing the surface of the ocean to the depths below. It was an even more picturesque site beneath the waves as these golden rays of light cast silvery murals of infinitely complex patterns across the hull of the UEO Atlantis ASV 8100, cruising quietly over the Hawaiian Molokai plains. Lieutenant Jane Roberts sat in the cockpit of her small SF-37/E Raptor sub fighter watching this as she and the rest of the VF-107 Rapiers raced through the sea, maintaining a steady vigil over the Atlantis. Doing a respectable speed of about 90 knots, the subfighter was flying escort for the massive ASV. "Raptor Squadron Alpha", better known to the fleet as the VF-107 'Rapiers' was the best fighter squadron not only aboard the Atlantis, but throughout the entire UEO – and there was literally not a single person in the entire UEO who could dispute that. The Rapiers had been formed just a few months earlier from the very best pilots throughout the UEO fleet. Drawing from every Confederation, and every other fighter wing in the Navy, to be a part of this group of crack-pilots was an incredible privilege. Roberts was one of those pilots. Of thousands of pilots in the fleet, a mere twelve had finally made the squadron Roster, and those twelve had gone on to become the first, and for a while _only _squadron of SF-37 Raptors in the navy. The SF-37/E Raptor was the latest and greatest subfighter to roll off the UEO production lines, and came as a long-awaited answer to Macronesia's very lethal _Lysander _class. Compared to the Lysander, the older UEO SF-2 Spectres were simply not of the same calibre, and they had suffered dearly at the hands of Macronesia's fighter wings over the past fifteen years. The Raptor would change all that, and the Rapiers were at the tip of the spear. Only one other squadron came close to their level of experience and skill in terms of pilots – the Aquarius-based VF-115 Dark Angels, under the command of Wing Commander Corinn Roderick. Naturally, the two squadrons shared a mutual rivalry with one another, and the contest for title of 'top gun' was up for grabs. Maybe it was an egotistical and arrogant way of looking at it, but Roberts knew only too well that morale was just as important as skill, and any pilot who lacked the heart to do the impossible when it was asked of them would not likely come home…

The piercing of a moment's static in her ear from her helmet mounted radio made her wince painfully. Led Zeppelin was good, provided it wasn't going to be interrupted by the annoying squawk of a radio that left one's ear drums in splitting pain. "Rapier wing, this is Atlantis. We've cleared Pearl Harbor's control… Be advised we are now at blue-water ops."

"Rapier one here," came the familiar voice of Wing Commander Hitchcock. "Message is understood. We'll maintain CSP as long as needed. Out."

Obediently, the Raptors fell back in to standard escort formations that became widely spread around the Atlantis's defensive perimeter. They didn't need to be told what to do; this was pretty standard stuff. Roberts watched as the massive engines of the Atlantis came to life. The huge hydro-jet engine nozzles seemed to flare as the outtakes opened up like big irises. The sight was quite remarkable as each engine was easily 25 meters in length. The extreme engineering that had gone in to those propulsion systems made everything else on the planet look decidedly quaint. Roberts began starting up her own, smaller versions of those engines, but for the Raptors, it wasn't as big an issue. Their light mass quite easily allowed them to exceed speeds of up to 150 knots without any trouble. As far as power-to-weight ratios went, the Raptor was unsurpassed.

Her gaze fixed squarely on the water ahead of her; Roberts felt the supersonic "boom" of the Atlantis's main engines as they started up, sending huge pressure waves through the sea. It was a bizarre, but strangely awesome sight; the water in the wake of the ASV's engines seemed to physically change form, the water being displaced so much that there was a visible, glowing demarcation line where the warm, low-pressure water from the ship's engines met the high-pressure water of the sea, causing a foam-like wash that seemed to move in slow motion. The ASV pulled away slowly at first, but quickly began to accelerate. Roberts matched her speed with the big sub, just in time to hear Hitchcock's next orders.

"All flights, this is Lead, you're clear to commence patrol... ROE says nothing is to get within 10 miles of Atlantis. In other words, if it doesn't have approach authorization, kill it."

Roberts quietly whooped in delight as she kicked in every bit of throttle she could give the fighter and was pushed back in to her seat and her tiny Raptor rapidly accelerated to 270 knots. The G-forces were hard from the extreme acceleration, but she smiled as the Raptor's streamlined hull cut through the water with incredible ease. The fighter quickly went from 90 to 270 knots in less than 6 seconds. It was like drag-racing with a 90-million dollar machine. She loved this job.

Uploading the last of her pre-plotted navigational data to the flight computer, she engaged the Raptor's autopilot, kicked back and enjoyed the ride. _This _was all class.



**Honolulu city, Hawaii. United Earth Oceans High Court. November 13th, 2040…**

It was getting late in the city of Honolulu and the sky outside stood at twilight. The feeling inside the courtroom for Captain Ainsley was similar. The hearing had not gone well, and it was almost certain that a court martial would follow. That much had been expected, but that didn't make the reality any easier to deal with. Sitting in the courtroom patiently, Ainsley and Adler waited Judge Locke to return with his decision. The door beside the stand opened and the master-at-arms walked in, with the Judge not far behind. "All rise."

Again, the pair of officers at the defence bench stood and waited while the Judge took his seat. Ainsley got the impression he'd have to get used to this. "Be seated."

Looking down at his papers, Admiral Locke sighed unhappily and clasped his hands. He cast a weary set of spectacled eyes over Captain Ainsley and Commander Adler. For his part, the Admiral looked decidedly upset with what he now had to do. "Defence council, will you please stand."

Obediently, Ainsley and Adler got to their feet and the Judge exhaled slowly before announcing his verdict. "Captain Ainsley. In light of the cases presented today, I've been left to contemplate a good deal of issues. You are a decorated officer of both the UEO and Royal Navies, you have seen a career that has been marked more achievements and accomplishments than any other single command officer in the fleet, and despite all this… a single, lawful command decision you made on the 7th of this month has led to an unmitigated disaster of global proportions. The purpose of this hearing was not to establish guilt, as you know… but it _has _established that there were decisions made that have driven the member nations of the UEO to a state of war." The Admiral paused as he pulled out another sheet of paper, stopping to read it briefly. "At the onset of this hearing, I was handed a recommendation that came from the North Sea Confederation's naval command via the office of the UEO Secretary General. It outlined a level of political damage that has come in the wake of this incident, and as a result of the declaration of war, the Royal Navy, under article 20, section 8 of the 2024 naval regulation amendments, your government has decided to pursue the charge and specification of wartime treason, in addition to the charge and specification of Dereliction of Duty. With the seriousness of these charges, and the findings of this hearing, I have no choice by to order a General Court Martial to be convened at the earliest convenient date. However, as you were serving under the command of the United Earth Oceans at the time of the specific incident, this court does _not _recognise any agreements of extradition, and the trial will be held under UEO Jurisdiction. This court will reconvene on November 18th. Until that date, I see no reason to incarcerate you, but I do order that you be escorted by a member of the military police at any times where you are _not _in the private domain of your own house. Is that acceptable?"

"It is, sir," replied Ainsley with a curt nod, grateful that the Admiral had not ordered him confined to the brig.

"Then this court stands recessed." Admiral Locke brought his gavel down on his bench after giving Ainsley an astute and reassuring nod. Standing up, the Admiral departed quickly, leaving the court room to slowly disperse. Commander Adler noticed the various media crews already gathering around the door, waiting for their opportunity to start firing off questions. Standing up, he and Ainsley were depressed, but not overly surprised by the order to convene a court martial. "So, let the battle begin," said Ainsley dryly. He honestly didn't think he had a prayer. The UEO was looking for a scapegoat, and he was it.

"We'll fight this every step of the way, Captain," promised Adler. "Just know that you're in for the fight of your life."



_Transcript Extract from UEO News Network, November 14th, 2040… _

"**HERO OF THE PEOPLE… OR REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE?"**

'…_With diplomatic solutions now being considered "beyond viable" by both the UEO and the Macronesian Alliance; the world is bracing for the biggest conflict seen since the third world war. With military forces now building up in unprecedented numbers across the Pacific – including the 2 UEO Super-submarines _Atlantis_ and _Aquarius,_ it now appears only a mater of only time and nervous patience before the last-ditch negotiations between Ambassadors of the Alliance and UEO reach an impasse._

_Despite controversy over recent events, public support of the UEO military – in particular, the Navy – is at a high. In an open public survey yesterday when asked the question "Should Captain Mark Ainsley have defended the neutral colony of Nintoku," a majority of 75 of people surveyed in the United States and NORPAC answered "Yes", with only 10 disagreeing, and the remaining 15 being undecided._

_Despite these overwhelming figures of public support for the British-born Ainsley – a thirty one year veteran of the Navy – the political scene is in an uproar over his actions. In an equally overwhelming 23-to-7 vote, the North Sea Confederation voted to try the Captain for treason and dereliction of duty after his actions plunged the confederation and its nations in to a war that is viewed by most Europeans as being completely unnecessary and even completely avoidable. _

_The 15-year cold war between the UEO and Macronesia has always been a major line of division between European Confederations and the United States and its NORPAC alliance. Europe; so separated from Macronesia; has never seen the Alliance as being a major threat to regional security. The United States however has faced a crisis that has in fifteen years driven its economy to the point of recession no less than 5 times, putting the superpower's military forces in a precariously stretched position. _

_The United States Navy makes up nearly 75 of the UEO's active forces in both manpower and resources. Of the European powers, only the North Sea Confederation – led by Britain, France, Germany and Spain - have actively supported the UEO military. While Europe as whole may not wish to involve them selves in what they consider a NORPAC affair, the very real prospect exists that they simply may not have a choice. If there is one thing both sides of the North Atlantic Alliance can agree on, it's that this war will be fought under a strictly-UEO mandate in the interests of maintaining both trans-Atlantic stability and confederation interests. When he addressed the nation last night, President James Howard stated that with so many NORPAC colonies across the Pacific, pulling UEO forces out of the theatre was considered "not an option…"_


	6. Apocalypse Rising

**VI**

**Apocalypse Rising**

**The Tonga Trench, 30 Kilometers south of the Tokelau Islands. The South Pacific. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 17th, 2040…**

In a space of only 3 days, so much had changed. On the morning of November 14th, the UEO had reciprocated to Bourne's political rhetoric by declaring war on Macronesia. Huge build-ups of military forces were taking place on every border across the Pacific and the UEO was only just in the stages of planning a counter-strike for the Alliance's savage missile attack on the bay of San Francisco. The demilitarized zone that had separated the two powers for the better part of a decade had exploded in to violence, with many sub surface colonies being subject to massive blockades and all out assaults from both sides. It was make or break, but so far, the opening salvos had been indecisive for either side.

Commander James Banick was exhausted. Constant 2-hour battle drills every 12 hours had left the crew's morale at an all time low, and what bothered Banick the most was that Captain Randbrough didn't seem to care. Atlantis had been on patrol for 3 days with the Aquarius less than 100 kilometres away. That was something else that bothered Banick, why did UEO Command send the 2 most powerful vessels ever created to the same location? The fleet was stretched thin, and putting the heaviest firepower in one area of the ocean was a clear message to the Alliance of where _not_ to strike. And that was not what the big ASVs were built for.

Sitting to the Captain's right on the bridge, Banick busied himself with his control console. In his position as XO, there wasn't much more he could do than simply run checks of each different system, and occasionally relay the Captain's orders to the appropriate bridge staff. The bridge was surprisingly quiet, even if it was busy with officers moving from station to station, checking different systems and performing their regular duties. Captain Randbrough seemed to like it that way. All work, no nonsense, and little chance of things going wrong. While it provided a nearly flawless system of command, it also meant extremely dull duties; the crew would easily grow weary, and that caused mistakes. Randbrough was pressing the crew beyond all rational limits, and he should have known better. Banick looked up when the Lieutenant Jack Phillips looked to the Captain with tired eyes. "Sir, we have incoming flash-traffic from fleet command in Pearl; Orders, sir."

Captain Randbrough got up from his chair and headed to the communications station. After a few minutes of quietly interrogating Phillips and analysing the message he turned around again and headed for the exit. "All senior officers, report to the briefing room on the double"

Banick shook his head with dismay and exchanged a look with Canebride at the helm as they headed for the briefing room in Randbrough's wake. In his haste, the Captain hadn't left anyone in charge of the deck. Banick knew that Randbrough probably expected him to do it, and it was just as well, because Banick didn't trust the Captain as far as he could spit. "Mister Lang," he said, looking to a junior-grade Lieutenant stationed at Ops. "You have the Conn."

"Aye sir."

'…Total hard ass'; they were the only words the Atlantis XO could think of to describe the Captain as he walked in to the briefing room to see that Randbrough was already seated at the table and pulling up several sets of orders on to the briefing room's main screen. "Be seated," he said as the officers walked in. "We have new orders from command. We've been called north, to the Phoenix Islands. Section Seven believes that the Alliance is building up a force to possibly launch raids on Pearl Harbor in that area. We are to move in, and quite simply clear out any and all Alliance forces that may be in that region."

"With the Aquarius, I assume?" asked Banick innocently enough, but still harbouring reservation.

Randbrough's response was snide, it was perfectly obvious to Banick that the Captain didn't like him, and Randbrough wasn't afraid to show it. "No… Aquarius has other orders. The mission is straight forward enough that we shouldn't need Captain Hornsby's help. We will simply do a quick run around the block, flush out whatever strike units we find, and then report to UEO Command once we are finished."

"I see…" said Banick quietly. The amount of flaws in that plan were so blindingly obvious that he didn't even know where to start, and with Randbrough just itching to breathe fire down his back, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Is there a _problem_ with that arrangement, Commander?"

"Are you asking my opinion, sir?" inquired Banick cautiously.

"Speak your mind, Commander… It's never stopped you in the past."

"Fine," said Banick, matching the Captain's cold and cynical tone. "Put simply; it's a bad idea. You don't put together a strike force with the intent of hitting Pearl Harbor and _not _including some serious firepower. It's common sense; if we _do _happen to find Macronesian forces in the Phoenix islands, we will be so massively outgunned that it will leave the UEO wondering not only wondering what happened to the seaQuest, but also what happened to _us."_

"Commander, the key word in my sentence was that these were _orders. _As such, they are not open to interpretation. I'm not paid to question orders; if I were, I would have joined fleet intelligence."

'…_Which is something you lack anyway…' _thought Banick quietly to himself. "Where did these orders come from, sir?"

"The Secretary General himself," said Randbrough as-a-matter-of-factly.

"At the recommendation of Section Seven," clarified Banick with scepticism. "Sir, The Secretary General is a _civilian. _Granted, he was an Admiral in the fleet once, but it's not his place to be giving orders to us."

"What's your point, Commander?"

"I'm simply asking why these orders were not sent through the appropriate channels, sir."

Randbrough stopped. A glimmer of nervous hesitation disturbed his eyes. What wasn't he telling them? "That's not your concern, Commander," he said finally. "Nor is it mine. I verified the orders myself. If there are any problems, you are welcome to take it up with the Secretary General yourself."

Banick knew that something was very wrong. Everything Captain Ainsley had warned him of, ominously, seemed to have some sort of substantiation behind it… Time would tell just how deep this ran, and Banick only hoped that Ainsley had been prepared for this. Callaghan – who looked a little more 'innocent' without his beard – noticed Banick's apprehension and did what he could to ease the tension. "Sir, what kinds of forces does intelligence expect us to find in the area?"

Captain Randbrough also looked somewhat relieved that he didn't have to deal with Banick's questions any longer. "Intelligence is conjectural at best, but Section Seven has reason to believe that there are at least 4 squadrons of attack boats operating in the area… Orion and Cepheus classes inclusive."

"No cruiser forces?"

"There is no reason to suggest it, no. If we encountered Dragnas let alone Tempests, they'd be surprised."

Only attack submarines?" remarked Callaghan with mild surprise. "I would have thought the Alliance would have at _least_ a couple of sub-carriers in there. How do they expect to be able to operate without fighter support?"

The Captain did not dull his gaze, the man was a machine. Banick didn't think there was a single waking moment where Randbrough wasn't completely aware of what was happening aboard the Atlantis. "Section Seven believes that the Alliance would not risk exposing their carriers this early in to hostilities. And the Alliance _knows _the Atlantis is operating in these waters, and likely considers it too risky. They now know what this submarine is capable of, and will not make the same mistake twice."

Banick nearly choked when he heard that. Was Randbrough really that incompetent? "…Captain, with all due respect, that's _exactly _what the Alliance would be doing _without _carriers. The last time we came to blows with their SSNs, we sent them to the bottom without any problems. With the entire _Pacific _open the way it is, why _wouldn't _Macronesia deploy their carriers? It's what they are there for!"

Randbrough was quickly growing impatient with Banick's questioning of every decision that was made. For Randbrough, this could have been a major problem in the longer term. "Commander Banick... I am growing increasingly _tired _of having to explain every order that I give. This is called a _briefing_. Do you see these?" Randbrough pointed to the small gold insignia on his uniform collar framed by the gold wreath and trident of the UEO and then continued. "I have more of these than you do. That means that when I give you an order, you carry it out. It does _not _mean you are supposed to question the order to the point of frustration! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Banick almost laughed at Randbrough's ignorance, but thought the better of it. "If the orders made _sense, _sir, I wouldn't _need _to question them."

"The orders don't have to make sense!" said the Captain angrily. "If we were in the middle of battle and I gave an order… would you start questioning that order for the sake of your own understanding?"

"No sir," replied Banick, failing to see what a battle situation had to do the briefing at that moment, but not needing the headache of an extended lecture. Randbrough was an idiot, and sooner or later he would be dealt with. But now was not the time.

"Of course you wouldn't! Now… have I made myself clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Randbrough stopped as he gathered his papers, and reset the briefing room's computer terminal and the holographic map that hung above it. "We're done," he said finally. "Commander Canebride… lay in a course for the Phoenix islands at best possible speed. Keep to the Hemmingway trench if you can. I'd like to avoid any unnecessary surprises."

Canebride cast a wary gaze over Banick, and then looked the Captain in the eyes. Randbrough was taken aback by her gaze; her eyes were cold and dark. And there was something there that he couldn't make out – a conflict, unresolved, but still raging in the fires of her mind. "Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

  

Captain Arnold Randbrough sat quietly in his quarters reviewing the day's reports and various files. One of these items was the personnel file of Commander James Banick, and it was that which he had been paying the most attention to. Holding the file open in his hand, he was beginning to realise that Banick was easily one of the most intriguing officers aboard. What concerned him the most was that Banick didn't appear to understand the meaning of 'chain of command', and frequently took matters in to his own hands with little or no regard for orders. And that made him a very dangerous man. Randbrough didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him across the brig, and he felt sure that Banick would probably feel the same way about him. If Banick knew what was actually going on however…

…The Captain pushed the thought aside. What Banick alone suspected was not an issue at that point in time. The bigger problem, suspected Randbrough, was that there was a lot more happening amongst the crew's ranks than he was aware. If there _was _something happening, then Banick would almost certainly be at the head of the snake.

Several other personnel files were also littered around the desk including Natalie Canebride, Madeline Hayes, Ryan Callaghan and Edward Stevens. If Banick was orchestrating something, then he'd likely have help. Randbrough had all but ruled out Hayes and Stevens… But Canebride and Callaghan represented wild cards. Callaghan's file was strangely incomplete; on _purpose. _When he'd tried to request the missing file information from UEO Command, he'd been flatly rebuked.

Then there was Canebride. Her file was spotless; she was the model officer. Her psychological profile made her out to be one of the toughest people in the crew, although her personality might suggest otherwise. What grabbed Randbrough's attention was that Canebride was close to Banick… _very _close. He wouldn't at all have been surprised if the two officers were romantically involved; this made Canebride just as much of a liability as Banick.

Turning the page in Banick's file, he came to his well-documented list of achievements and decorations. The list was lengthy to say the least. No less than 6 citations for courage under fire, 2 meritous service medals, nearly a dozen campaign medals, and the Navy Cross. "So, Commander," mused Randbrough quietly. "A bit of a hero are we?"

Randbrough's orders were simple, and very explicit. No one on the Atlantis could be allowed to interfere with his mission. If that meant throwing an officer in the brig, then so be it.

There had to be _something _in the commander's file that could be useful. Unfortunately for him, the Atlantis's previous Captain – Mark Ainsley - had written highly of Commander James Banick, and any superior officer's comments that took note of "initiative" or "excellence" were not taken lightly in boards of review. Such popularity made friends in high places, very easily.

Next, was Banick's disciplinary file and Randbrough eagerly skipped ahead to read whatever information it had. Turning the page, the Captain was stunned to find… _nothing._

Not a single letter of discipline marked the Commander's file. It was spotless… _too _spotless. Checking the scattered files to make sure nothing was missing; Randbrough could only stare in stunned silence at the empty void that was Banick's disciplinary record. The _only _thing in the folder pertaining to any misdemeanours outlined a brief scuffle during Banick's academy days for which he'd been given 3 days in the brig.

If that was the best Randbrough could come up with, then it looked like Banick would be sticking around. Closing the file in frustration, the Captain got up from the office chair and headed toward the small kitchen in the main living area. Opening the cupboard, he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Pouring the amber liquid in to a glass, he sighed. He would have to watch Banick very carefully.

Randbrough was lost at sea with no where to turn… except one man. Taking his drink back to the study, he sat down, and logged on to his computer terminal. He brought up the Atlantis's secure communications system, and quickly input a command that took him straight to the top; the one person who was in charge, and the one person who knew exactly what to do.

Arthur Dallinsley.

"Captain? What's wrong?" asked the confused face of the UEO Secretary General on the computer screen.

"Atlantis will be at Phoenix in just under 24 hours," replied Randbrough simply; cutting straight to the point.

Dallinsley smiled slightly. He was pleased by this news. "Good. I've spoken to your…_counterpart._ And he assures me that everything is in place. When you arrive, he will escort you to safety. Atlantis's disappearance will be officially filed as sabotage."

Randbrough nodded. "Good. What about San Francisco?"

"-Completely destroyed," confirmed Dallinsley, shaking his head.

"And the _Odyssey?"_

"Survived," answered the Secretary General with a hint of hesitation. "Provided you complete your mission however… then the Odyssey will no longer be an issue."

Captain Randbrough was not unaccustomed to vagueness, and the Secretary's assurance that everything was working out was enough to satisfy him. They'd come this far, so it didn't seem that much could go wrong… except for one detail that was left unanswered. "Sir, there is one last thing…"

"Yes?"

"I may have an _issue…_ Commander Banick is beginning to represent a problem. He is asking too many questions. I don't know if I can keep this from him forever."

"I expected as much." The Secretary General didn't look surprised. He maintained a remarkably cool composure as he worked his jaw over the problem. "Banick has always been a _wildcard _when it comes to these situations; a small oversight, I'll admit. But without Ainsley to hold his leash, I think you'll find that Commander Banick is as blind as Bourne. Just the same… if he gets in the way, do _anything_ you feel is necessary to maintain operational security, Captain."

"…Anything, sir?" repeated Randbrough with a mild degree of astonishment and morbid shock.

"Everyone is expendable, Captain. People can disappear. Keep that in mind."

"…Yes mister Secretary."

  

**United Earth Oceans Headquarters. Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. **

**November 17th, 2040…**

It was getting to be quite late in Hawaii. The bustling activity in the headquarters of the UEO was winding down for the day. Even the military had to sleep from time to time, and while the headquarters would not ever shut down completely as it maintained guard patrols and night watches in the military wings, the administrative duties of the big central command complex came to an end at six O'clock every evening. Civilian secretaries would go home to their families; politicians would be chauffeured from the building to the airport or their hotels; and the general staff of the military administration could finally take off their boots.

It had been a long day for Admiral Nathan Hale Bridger. His office was one of the most comfortable in the west wing of the headquarters, sitting high above Diamond Head on the 14th floor of Building A, right next to the harbour. Closing his eyes and resting his head in his hands, Bridger listened in silence to the gentle breeze as it whipped past the office, and smelt the sea breeze as it wafted through the open window. He found the sea to be soothing… relaxing. He doubted he could ever stand living in an in-land city. It would probably drive him crazy. But for some reason, the salt air had become stale in recent days. The grim clouds of war had come to hang over the Pacific Ocean, and they served as a reminder that even the unspoiled riches of the sea were susceptible to the Midas desires of the greedy.

Nathan Bridger had built the first seaQuest DSV nearly 40 years ago, and the second ship to bear the name not long after. He had designed it as if she were the holy grail of oceanography, but now the seaQuest was no more; stolen from the sea by those who wanted nothing more than power and wealth. Bridger had played an integral part in helping with the fundamental design of the Advanced Submergence Vehicles… but he hadn't really had much choice in the matter. The sea was his home... and it had to be defended one way or the other. In his eyes, the ASVs could never replace seaQuest. They were the products of a time where fear ruled the waves. seaQuest had been the product of uncertainty; a project which held glistening potential… but he had come to learn that there was a big difference between 'uncertainty' and 'fear'. One could bring hope… the other could destroy it.

No. Bridger would never see the ASVs in the same way as seaQuest. They were ships of war, and while technological marvels in their own right, they would never hold to the ideals that the UEO was supposed to represent. That was something only the seaQuest could do, and now… could do no more.

A part of Nathan Bridger had died that day.

A light rapping came from the door of his office, and he looked up to see a junior lieutenant – his aide – standing in the frame. "Excuse me, sir?" said the officer politely. He was holding a file in his hand.

"Working late, Nick?"

"Just until you leave, sir," replied the Aide honestly, with a wry smile. "I wouldn't be much of an assistant if I wasn't around when you needed me… You asked to know when the Atlantis received new orders, sir?"

Bridger raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd totally forgotten about that. Captain Ainsley had spoken with him several days earlier with concerns that seemed as incredible as they were grave. What the Captain had asked for had been incredibly hard to arrange, and for a time, Bridger had truly wondered if the man were insane. But, as his friend Captain Oliver Hudson had once said… Anyone who ignored their gut was never sane in the first place; and Bridger had no intention of ignoring the same, growing concerns that he himself had noticed about the Secretary General, Arthur Dallinsley. "Yes… That's right… You have news?"

"Yes sir," said the Lieutenant, stepping in the door and handing the Admiral the folder. "I just found this in Fleet Command's dispatches. It was sent earlier today… straight from the office of the Secretary General."

Bridger gritted his teeth as he read the contents of the folder. There was little doubt in his mind any more… something was going on. "Has Captain Randbrough acted on these orders?"

"Yes sir," said the Lieutenant. "Atlantis will be at the Phoenix Islands in less than 18 hours."

Bridger put the folder down and reached in to his desk drawer to pull out _another _file and handed it to the Lieutenant. "Alright… I want to you to send this to Captain Hornsby on the Aquarius immediately. Send it through my personal channels… I don't want this becoming open knowledge to the fleet just yet."

"Yes sir… And may I ask what this is all about?"

"I suggest you don't, Lieutenant," replied Bridger sternly. "…Unless you want to be court martialled for treason."

The Lieutenant's face went white with shock as he tried to work out just how serious the Admiral's comment was. Bridger's returning stare was enough to evoke a hasty salute, and the Lieutenant stammered a "Yes sir" before quickly leaving the office to do as Bridger had asked.

Yes… there _had _been an act of treason within the ranks of the United Earth Oceans organization. But Captain Mark Ainsley was not the one who should have been blamed.

  

**The Tokelau Islands. The South Pacific. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 17th, 2040…**

…Swinging hard, James Banick brought his fists in to Captain Randbrough's stomach. At least, he liked to _think_ it was Randbrough. The ship's gymnasium was empty, so he could make as much noise as he liked. Swinging again, he brought his fists around in a barrage of 1-2 combinations that made the punching bag swing wildly. Had it really been the Captain, he would have been out cold or in the infirmary… or possibly worse.

"Are you ok, Jim?"

Banick looked up from his merciless assault on the imaginary Captain and was a little surprised to see Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride only a few feet away, leaning against the wall, her arms folded in front of her. Steadying the bag, he pulled off the gloves he wore and smiled at her. "Oh… Natalie. I was just…umm…_working out."_

She smiled slyly and walked closer as Banick took off the sweat-covered undershirt and reached for the towel that Canebride was holding out towards him. "He _can_ have that effect, can't he?"

Banick finished drying himself off quickly and chuckled. "Yes, he can. The Captain is turning out to be a royal pain in the ass. You've had this episode before haven't you?"

Canebride circled slowly with an almost cat-like stroll, and came to rest a hand on the wall. She wiped her long hair away from her face and shot Banick a daring smile. "Well, I don't remember laying in to a punching bag over the past few days like that… but it did take some getting used to."

Banick nodded as he did up the zip on his black uniform jumpsuit and straightened out the collar. He was not in the greatest of moods, and talking about the arrogant, self-centred and anally-retentive Captain was not likely to bring out the best in him, so he opted to change the subject. "Natalie…What brings you down here?"

"What do you mean?"

Banick looked up and shrugged. "Was it something you wanted, or… you just passing by?"

"Well, I _was_ going to the sea deck, but when I heard all this noise, I decided I'd see what was going on."

Banick smiled wryly. "You know, you're not that good at lying, Nat."

She laughed for just a moment, but suddenly became more serious. "Jim, the Captain was going through your file. He came to the bridge asking all sorts of questions about you. I think he thinks that something is up."

Banick laughed. He didn't seem to care at all that Randbrough had been running a private background check on him. "He's most welcome to try and find something on me… But Captain Ainsley left a few things for us before he left... I switched the file."

Canebride's jaw became slack and it slowly turned in to a lopsided grin. She knew that Banick was capable of doing a lot of things that straddled the line of 'regulation'… but this was too far. "You're joking, right?"

Banick shook his head. "If Captain Randbrough saw my disciplinary file, I would have been in the brig days ago."

  

**UEO High Court, Honolulu City, Hawaii. November 18th, 2040…**

Three gavel strikes echoed through the interior of the court house as Admiral Timothy Locke presided over the room, making sure he had everyone's attention. The court was packed; not a single seat remained vacant. "Defence council, please stand."

Captain Ainsley and Ben Adler did so in silence, and Locke put on his glasses and read from a letter he held before him. "Under article 20, section 8 of North Sea Confederation naval regulations, and article 20, section 12 of UEO command regulations, you are charged with treason against the state and dereliction of duty. How do you plead?"

Ainsley cleared his throat, and held his head high. If he was going to be burned at the stake, he would do so with his dignity intact. "Not guilty, your honour."

Locke nodded as he struck his gavel again. "Very well. This court is now in session. Commander Jamieson, your opening statement."

Commander Allison Jamieson, the chief prosecutor was one of the most infamous attorneys in the UEO Judge Advocate General. In her career as a trial lawyer, she had never actually lost in the court room. She was a senior commander by all respects; in her mid-to-late thirties, and with the experience to go with it, it probably wouldn't be long before she was a Captain, and most likely presiding over the courtroom as a Judge. She got up from the prosecution bench and headed to the floor. "Thank you, your honour," pausing for a moment, she looked around to take in all those present, in particular the sitting jury that included both senior fleet Captains and Admirals, and proceeded. "Captain Mark Ainsley…" she said with a thoughtful frown. "For most who've served in the armed forces, the Captain's name is arguably known as one of the most celebrated commanding officers in the fleet. Decorated no less than half a dozen times including conspicuous medals for valour, courage under fire, and even the Navy Cross, those who have had the privilege of serving under him can testify to the fact that he is both a man of principle and honour. The Captain's exemplary service record is not in question… and under no circumstances should these achievements ever be held as anything other than they were given for; testaments to his good character."

Ainsley considered that Jamieson had probably made him a case study on several occasions. She'd no-doubt done her homework on his career, and probably knew details about his service that even he'd forgotten. She went on… "Despite all this… He now stands accused of one of the most serious capital crimes in law: treason. We can almost certainly assume in good confidence that the Captain's actions on the 7th of November at the Nintoku colony were done with honourable intent. He broke no law by answering the distress call of a colony located in neutral waters, but in doing so, he _did _– knowingly – commit the UEO Atlantis ASV to a situation where armed conflict was accepted to be a very likely and possibly inevitable outcome. Further more, when ordered to return to Pearl Harbor following the incident, the Captain did not acquiesce to the instruction, and Atlantis remained at sea for 3 more days… thus the charge of dereliction of duty. As a result of his actions and specifically those of the UEO Atlantis, he committed his country, and every other member state of the United Earth Oceans to war with the Macronesian Alliance. We are in this court room today asking a simple question; is this treason? Do the actions of following the letter of international law take precedence over the laws of one's home country? Yes… it is true that Captain Ainsley was serving under the command of the United Earth Oceans at the time of this incident, and as such, was bound by his duties to the organization and the laws we uphold. But was he not also bound by his duties as an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy? I put forward to you that he _was… _and as Britain is a fully-signed and recognised member of the United Earth Oceans Organization and the Security Council, we must now deal with the grim reality that neither international law, nor the laws of Great Britain are mutually exclusive."

The speech went on for several minutes, and every word from that moment on hit hard. Ainsley knew that it was not Jamieson's intention to insult him, but it didn't soften the blow either. Finally, Jamieson finished by addressing the Jury – to very little surprise – and left the floor open once again. "Commander Adler, do you wish to make an opening statement?" asked Locke.

Adler nodded his head as he wrote a few notes down in front of him. Opening statements set the tone for the rest of the trial, and it was important to get the Jury on-side early, before any evidence could seriously begin to set within their minds. "Yes, your honour."

"Proceed."

Adler got up and took the floor. He gave Ainsley a reassuring nod before beginning. "Treason… and dereliction of duty. They are incredibly serious charges for anyone to deal with, no? As the prosecution has accurately stated… Captain Ainsley is a decorated and highly respected thirty-one year veteran of both the Royal Navy, and the UEO Navy. Why an officer so highly regarded by his peers and superiors alike would commit these acts at all, let alone _willingly _is totally beyond me… and I would even go so far as to say impossible. It would be a demeaning matter for me to pass judgement against _any _officer with even half of Captain Ainsley's experience, having never seen combat outside a courtroom my entire career. The simple fact is that very few people understand the reality of combat, and those who do understand only too well that there are times when even the most simple of orders can become incredibly hard to interpret. It is, in fact, one of the first things they will teach you at command school… and it is often the last thing that many Captains have had to deal with. For whatever faults he may have, Captain Ainsley must have done _something _right… as he is alive and sitting in this court room today."

Adler let that thought hang over the court room for a moment. He and Ainsley had decided early-on that it would be almost impossible to directly contest the validity of the charges given the straight-forward logic that had brought them about in the first place, but they _could _contest the situation which had begun this trial. "As I have said… I have no combat experience, and those who do probably wish they didn't. War is a very immoral thing in which those who serve must do things that question basic human ethics. We are trained to kill other people over the range of a thousand miles with a cruise missile. We don't know anything about the people we are killing, we only know the beliefs of their political leaders… and others have to suffer because of that. Do we call soldiers murderers because they kill? No… So why should we call Captain Ainsley a traitor simply because he followed standing orders of the UEO Charter? I quote from the Charter of the United Earth Oceans Organization, as ratified on June 16th, 2016. Article 1, section 1 clearly states that the mission of the UEO is to _"To maintain international peace and security, and to that end: to take effective collective measures for the prevention and removal of threats to the peace, and for the suppression of acts of aggression or other breaches of the peace, and to bring about by peaceful means, and in conformity with the principles of justice and international law"… _In other words, ladies and gentlemen… the first and foremost mission of the UEO is to uphold the letter of international law. Captain Ainsley did that without any failing, and I would contest that to say otherwise would be to denounce the fundamental foundations of the UEO charter. To this end, the defence will prove that Captain Ainsley did, knowingly, follow the letter of standing UEO orders, and is thus guilty neither of treason, nor dereliction of his duty as a UEO officer."

…Sitting in the witness stand, Ainsley felt unusually intimidated by Commander Jamieson pacing across the floor in front of him. Adler had argued against putting him on the stand, as Commander Jamieson's reputation almost certainly meant that she would try to tear him to pieces. But lawyer or not, it wasn't a prospect that bothered Ainsley. He'd matched wits with some of the best tacticians on the face of planet and won many times… To him, this was just another battlefield tat was being resolved by cold, hard logic. And he did not intend to lose. "Captain Ainsley, I think you'll agree with me that in order to make some sense out of this mess… we should probably start from the beginning. Can you please tell the court what exactly happened aboard the UEO Atlantis ASV eighty-one-hundred just before the incident at Nintoku?"

Ainsley nodded curtly. Jamieson was merely establishing a setting for her argument… So he would give her exactly that, in _his _words. "Yes… We responded to a general distress call from the Colony when they reported that they were under attack by Macronesian submarines. Under the UEO charter, we were under every obligation to respond, so I ordered my XO, Commander James Banick, to set a course for the seamount at best possible speed."

Jamieson nodded. "Understandable. Did any of your officers question your decision to leave UEO waters?"

"No. they did not. The only question my crew raised was my order to take the Atlantis to full speed."

"Does that have anything to do with tactical decisions, Captain?"

"Yes and no… The faster you can get somewhere, the better. But Atlantis was less than a day old, so they questioned whether it was wise to take the ship to full speed without properly running them in first."

Ben Adler shook his head. "Objection - Relevance?"

Locke was about to agree with Adler before Jamieson quickly interjected. "-Your honour, Defence Council stated that no one can be expected to fully understand the realities of combat until they've seen it first hand. The prosecution concedes this point, and as Captain Ainsley is considered an expert witness in this regard, I am trying to get him to explain it."

Locke nodded and sat back in his chair in agreement. "Objection overruled… But be warned; if you stray; you pay."

Jamieson nodded gratefully to the Judge, and stopping pacing, come to a stop on the floor to look at Ainsley more directly; her arms folder low in front of her. "Ok… so in order to reach Nintoku in best possible time, you ordered that the Atlantis proceed at flank speed to the seamount. What was your next order?"

"I sounded battlestations."

"Why?"

"The Atlantis was already at standby alert, and as soon as we had confirmed the identity of the Macronesian submarines, they were classed as hostile."

Jamieson frowned, sensing something that did not add up. "But… you were still some time from making actual contact with the Macronesian vessels, were you not?"

"We were, yes."

"…So how do you assess something to be _hostile _if you haven't actually made contact with them yet, Captain? Wasn't it a little… _pre-emptive _to make such an assumption given that you had no idea what their intentions were?"

Ainsley smiled. He'd seen the question coming from a long way off, but was not going to say anything that wasn't asked. "With respect… I'm not at liberty to say, Commander. That would require me to divulge _classified _information."

Jamieson seemed taken aback by this, which was enough to draw a smile from Ben Adler. Jamieson turned to Admiral Locke's bench. "…With your permission, Admiral?"

Locke looked at the register of the proceedings who as taking down a transcript of everything that was being said. "Register, you will ignore the following comments. Captain Ainsley… you may answer the question."

The Captain nodded slowly, and answered the question as directly as possible. "The Atlantis has some of the most advanced sensor arrays in the world, Commander. In ideal conditions – and by that I mean a submarine plain with few or no navigational obstructions, and with the aid of WSKRS satellite telemetry, we can detect a submarine at 300 nautical miles, have a solid identification at 150 nautical miles, and acquire a preliminary firing solution at 60 nautical miles. Given that the Atlantis was only 50 nautical miles from the colony at the time we received the distress call, it was not difficult to acquire the necessary tactical data."

"…But, Captain, I'm confused. How is it that if the Atlantis is able to so easily detect a submarine at that range, you were unable to detect weapons fire from the Macronesian Orions prior to the distress call?"

Ainsley smirked. "No one said anything about it being _easy, _and at such distance, it is almost impossible to distinguish torpedo fire from a simple fast-moving speeder. If naval warships acted on _everything _that _could_ be a threat, then the sea would be a much less friendly place."

"-In your _opinion," _corrected Jamieson with a slightly cautioning smile.

"Maybe."

"And did the Alliance submarines represent a threat to the Atlantis herself at the time of your decision?"

"No they did not," answered Ainsley truthfully, with some inkling that he was now digging a hole for himself.

"So, in other words, for you to act on the available sonar and sensor information that the Atlantis had received, in addition to the distress call, there was absolutely no doubt in your mind that the situation developing was a hostile one?"

"There is _always _doubt, no matter what the decision is. Part of being a good Captain involves being able to put aside doubt and act on an informed decision."

Jamieson nodded, and turned an eye to the jury, as if making a point. "Which you certainly did… Did it ever cross your mind at any point in time that following the instruction standing orders could be… _wrong?_"

Ainsley frowned, noticing from the corner of his eye that Adler was looking a little worried. What did Jamieson mean by 'wrong'? "I'm not sure what you mean, Commander. You'll have to be more specific."

"Sorry, Captain… I'll rephrase. You said yourself that you made an informed decision to consider the Alliance submarines hostile… whilst they were still in international waters, and presented no immediate threat to the Atlantis. Did it ever occur to you that the letter of orders can be extended to a point where they breach defined limits of international law?"

Jamieson had him cornered, and Adler saw it too. "Objection, your Honour. Argument is conjectural, and leading the witness."

Admiral Locke didn't seem to argue that point. "Objection sustained. Councillor Jamieson… thin ice. If you stray any further on this topic-"

"_-Captain Ainsley," _pressured Jamieson unrelentingly, and ignoring the Judge's warning. "Under article 2, section 3 of the UEO charter, it is clearly stated that_ "All Member states shall settle their international disputes by peaceful means in such a manner that international peace and security, and justice, are not endangered." _

"Councillor!" repeated Admiral Locke with growing impatience. "The objection was _sustained!"_

Jamieson was on a roll, and wasn't about to be denied her moment. Her eyes sparkled with a furious and certain knowledge of victory. Nothing was going to stop her. "-Would you agree, Captain," she continued, "That by crossing the UEO border and engaging those Macronesian vessels that had been classified as hostile, you in fact _broke general order 6 of the UEO charter?"_

Adler was now on his feet, looking pleadingly with Admiral Locke whose face was now going red with anger. Ainsley simply sat in the witness stand, returning Jamieson's fiery stare, not flinching under the gaze. Locke looked down at Ainsley, shaking his head. "Captain, you are under no obligation to answer that question. Councillor Jamieson… See me in my chambers, _immediately. _This court is recessed. Captain Ainsley, you may stand down."

Locke hit his gavel against the bench, giving Jamieson a foul stare and shaking his head before heading straight to the door. The presiding bailiff had barely had a chance to call for the court to rise, and Locke was gone, with Jamieson close in his wake.

Ainsley got up from the stand, straightening his dress uniform, but not letting the shaking experience show on his reserved features. Adler was quickly taking to the floor to meet Ainsley as the various onlookers in the court room dispersed out the back of the hall. "Jesus Christ, Ben," said Ainsley under his breath as Adler approached. "You told me that she was a pit bull… but this is ridiculous."

"I warned you, Mark," said Adler, shaking his head. "I should never have let you on the stand. I just hope that little assault didn't put us in to the endgame about 3 weeks ahead of schedule."

"That went badly, didn't it?"

"…It's not too late to change your plea, Mark," said Adler sadly. "If you leave this court today in one piece, I'll be amazed."

  

**UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. The Phoenix Islands. November 19th, 2040…**

"General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands, man your battle stations! This is not a drill."

Alert klaxons rang throughout the corridors of the Atlantis as hundreds of crew ran to their battlestations. Across the ship, everything went in to lock down; massive watertight bulkheads slammed shut, sealing off the various sections of the submarine, while Marines brandishing M-31 assault rifles sprinted down the corridors to the barking of orders from their fire team commanders. Commander James Banick considered it as a rather morbidly amusing thought; anyone who wanted to board the Atlantis would have to deal with an entire company of such soldiers – 250 marines made up the Atlantis's garrison, and it was the general consensus of anyone who knew them that they were the meanest, nastiest and most seriously egotistical bastards on the entire boat... They believed they were the best, and it just so happened that they were right. Running through the main access corridors of B-deck, Banick and Natalie Canebride ducked as they came to low-lying bulkheads and swung through the clam shell doors of the bridge just before they thudded closed behind them with a snap-hiss of pressurizing air and the jarring 'clack' of their huge magnetic locks slamming shut within. Short of blowing a hole through the outer hull, there was absolutely no way anyone was getting on to the bridge now.

Unsurprisingly, Captain Randbrough was already seated comfortably in the center chair of the bridge, barking out orders to all those around him. "Sir? Anything to report?"

Randbrough did not turn away from his consoles as he ran through his monitors and various status reports from across the ship. The Captain's lip curled, as he was obviously unhappy with the prospect of having to explain_ anything _to Banick. "Commander… Nice of you to join us. We've got the Alliance fleet in sensor range."

Sitting down at his own station on the Captain's right side, Banick quickly put aside any dislike he had for Randbrough, and professionalism took over. He was relieved to see that Randbrough was likely thinking along the same lines. "How many ships?"

"A dozen: Limited to Orion, Cepheus and Aleus class boats."

Banick raised an eyebrow in surprise. _Aleus_ class submarines were Macronesian Subfighter-carriers. While only carrying about 2 dozen Lysander sub-fighters fully loaded, it wasn't their size they relied on. They made up wolf packs that had long represented a painful thorn in the side to the UEO; able to operate individually in very effective, coordinated strike groups. The fact there was any carriers in front of them alone completely destroyed any intelligence theories that existed that the Alliance were not fielding them so close to the front lines. "Carriers? How many?"

Randbrough looked back down at his console. "4 confirmed… 3 other subs in the group haven't been identified."

"Yes sir."

"Tactical, give me shooting solutions on the Aleus squadron. EVA control, get all pilots to their fighters and prep for immediate launch. I want them on the line in 5 minutes!"

"Aye, sir."

For the most part, the Atlantis was ready for battle. Torpedo batteries were fully prepped with full load-outs of 6 torpedoes apiece; each battery being ready to fire every single round on a moment's notice. It was an obscene amount of firepower. Of the 400 torpedoes that the Atlantis carried in her stocks at that moment, a full hundred were loaded in to tubes; their E-plasma warheads fully charged and ready to fire.

On the sea deck, things were not quite so organized. The hangars were always a bustle of activity as ammunition trolleys covered in 30-millimeter rail gun ammunition and torpedoes were shuttled too and from the armouries above and below the hangar decks as subfighters were loaded accordingly and readied for battle. Pilots completely ignored their pre-flight checklists as they clambered up the ladders and in to their cockpits. SF-37 Raptors made up the bulk of the Atlantis's EVA corps, and they were devastatingly lethal weapons in their own right. In addition to being armed with arrangements of miniaturized plasma torpedoes built solely for the purpose of subfighter armaments, they were also equipped with the newest addition to the UEO's subfighter arsenals; S/GA-14A "Hades" super cavitating, gattling railguns. The gattling gun was a tried and true design… and this one was no exception. The Hades guns were capable of accelerating their 6 barrels up to 9000 RPM, while spewing out their heavy 30 millimetre Uranium slugs at nearly 13,000 feet per second with the aid of long magnetic rails that were supercharged from the Subfighter's small fusion reactor. It was quite possibly the most devastating anti-subfighter munition ever developed. Just one or two direct hits from these shells could rip the wings of a fighter in nanoseconds, and in deep water with the crushing pressures of the ocean considered, even the slightest loss of hull integrity meant that the sub-fighters would be that much more susceptible to such bombardment.

These thoughts sobered Lieutenant Jane Roberts as she ran to her Raptor and clambered up the ladder to begin the start up sequences. Throwing on her radio headset with one hand, she opened up the injector lines of her fighter's twin aqua-return engines with the other before giving a confident thumbs-up to the tech crew scrambling around on the deck, readying her fighter for launch. The headset cracked in her ear as Commander Hitchcock's voice filtered in through the squadron's radio channel. "All pilots; this is Rapier One. Prep for immediate launch. Rapiers, launch on point. Bravo squadron, support our flanks."

"Acknowledged."

Strapping herself in, Roberts smiled at the technician who slid her canopy shut with a solid 'click' and sealed shut with a hiss of pressurizing oxygen. The tech simply nodded back with a confident smile. Anything he tried to say would have been drowned out by the wail of the many engines that were now coming to power around the hangar. Bringing the engines to idle, she waited as her fighter was towed across the deck to the launch ramps by the small flight deck tug that had latched itself to the fighter's nose gear. It was Showtime.

On the bridge, Banick was in awe at the sheer amount of activity around the command deck. Unlike their first engagement, Atlantis now had a full crew and things were a lot busier on the big boat. But the surprising fact was that everything was so amazingly coordinated between the various watch officers. Every officer on the bridge knew who to answer to, and it actually made for a very streamlined system of command. Returning to work, Banick got the final all clear from tactical and EVA; Atlantis was now fully ready for battle. "Captain, flight deck reports all pilots ready for launch on your orders. Tactical reports we have shooting solutions on the Carriers as you asked."

"Very good... Sensors… what are those carriers doing?"

The sonar operator frowned and shook his head. "I don't know sir. It's like they don't even know where here. They're just… sitting there."

"Very well... Helm, move us in. Take us to 90 knots."

Banick frowned deeply. He had absolutely no idea why Randbrough had just given that order. Taking the Atlantis in to the middle of the enemy fleet made _no _sense what-so-ever. They had shooting solutions, and they could simply stand off at long range without ever needing to put the ship in unnecessary danger, and what was more; the captain _knew_ it. "Sir… I strongly advise against that. The Alliance fleet outguns us 3 to 1. We're already in weapons range, sir."

Randbrough said very little on the object. And it didn't look like he was going to elaborate any time soon. "I know. Helm… All ahead: _90 knots._"

Madeline Hayes; sitting at navigation as the chief helmsman overheard the entire exchange and shook her head. "…Aye sir," she said with a moment's hesitation. "Engines ahead 90 knots."

Banick waited with growing anxiety as the Atlantis closed the gap with the Alliance fleet. This was going to be either a complete turkey shoot… or a very bloody massacre for both sides. "Distance to the closest target?" asked the Captain.

"3 miles sir."

"Launch the sea wing. Tell them to pick their targets at will."

"Yes sir."

Atlantis continued her advance on the enemy fleet, but still, not one of the Macronesians moved… _Why?_ Banick shook his head. This was too far. "Captain… it has to be a trap. What the hell is going on?"

Randbrough looked decidedly unfazed. "Commander Banick… This is _the _most heavily armed and defended ship in the fleet. Our very much doubt they can hurt us… and closing the range to point-blank will give them absolutely no breathing room. This is going to be over before it even begins."

James Banick rose to his feet, now determined to confront Randbrough… but didn't get the chance to say anything before the sensor chief turned around in alarmed shock. "_Sir!_ New contacts! Bearing One-Eight-Zero, pulling out of the trench directly behind us! It's… it's…"

Both Banick and Randbrough turned to the officer almost instantaneously. "It's _what, _Lieutenant?"

The sensor chief was beyond words, and simply flipped a control that put what he was looking at on to the main bridge screen. It quickly resolved in to the image of a vessel that sent cold shivers of dreaded shock down the spines of everyone on the Bridge: In perfect repair, and accompanied by a full strike wing of Macronesian Orion class Attack Submarines, was the UEO seaQuest DSV 4600. "Continue on present course and speed," said Randbrough cautiously, almost as if he hadn't even noticed "Take us directly in to the middle of their fleet."

Banick could take no more of this. Enough was enough. _"Captain…"_

"-Commander," interjected Randbrough, staring at Banick coldly. Every set of eyes was now resting squarely on the Captain and the XO; the few UEO marines at the rear of the Bridge were visibly tempted to raise their rifles. "You will resume your station…" continued the Captain after a moment, "…or I will have you arrested."

"Sir, permission to speak candidly?"

Randbrough was met only be the coldness of Banick's stare. Neither man flinched. "Spit it out, Commander"

Banick was only too happy to oblige. "If you do not belay that order, I _will_ relieve you of command. You have not done a thing to explain your actions… and this crew has so far followed every order you have given without question. I think we are owed an explanation."

Randbrough's face was glowing with anger. Banick had just crossed the line, and either he, or the XO was going to be in the brig on charges in just a matter of seconds. "Commander…" he said coldly. "You are owed _nothing. _We have _our_ orders, and the Alliance have _theirs-"_

Banick gave a sinister smile. Randbrough had just made his last mistake. He'd slipped, and now he would pay. Ainsley had been right all along. "And what does _that_ mean, _sir?_"

The Captain still did not flinch as he looked around the bridge, and then back to Banick. "Commander… your missile key… _now_."

Banick simply stared. All those on the bridge were in total shock. No one could believe what was happening. Without warning, Randbrough snapped around, pulling out his side arm and pointed it directly at James Banick. The Atlantis XO stared blankly at the gun and was suddenly aware that the two Marines had already levelled their M-31s on the insane captain.

"**_Now!"_ **yelled the Captain, visibly trembling with rage.

Banick nodded slowly and pulled out the key from under his white turtleneck shirt. He watched as Randbrough unfolded a piece of paper that had been in his pocket. He knew without even reading it what would be on it – the nine-digit arming code for the 20 Triton IV Ballistic missiles held deep within the Atlantis. Known only to the Captain and the XO, the code was kept under lock and key in the ship's safe. But Banick's arming key would be useless to Randbrough. He couldn't use it because of the key's built-in DNA-coded safeguards. He tossed the key towards Randbrough and watched helplessly as he snatched it from the air.

Keeping his gaze on Banick, his aim unwavering, Randbrough moved toward the tactical station and then made an unexpected move. Whipping around, he grabbed Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride and just as swiftly, moved the gun to her head, lodging it sharply beneath her jaw. "You two!" he yelled at the rifle-packing Marines. "Drop them, _now!_ Or Commander Canebride will be the latest addition to the bridge paintwork!"

Banick's stomach sank at the sudden move. _"No…" _he thought silently. He then turned to the soldiers and nodded cautiously. The troops nodded hesitantly and they slowly set the rifles down on the deck. Turning back, Banick watched the insane Captain pull out his own missile key and move quickly to the missile control console. "Captain, listen to me-"

"_Shut up, Banick!" _yelled Randbrough. Placing the keys in the control locks, he motioned to Banick as he jarred his weapon up in to Canebride's jaw, prompting her to close her eyes painfully. "The key… you will turn it when I say… or she dies."

Banick knew this could only end one way… Randbrough had already lost. Moving to the controls, he gingerly took the key between his fingers, and looked at Canebride with apologetic, yet reassuring eyes.

"Three," said the Captain, beginning the count.

…Three seconds. That was the amount of time required to see if Captain Ainsley's gamble had paid off.

"Two,"

….Two seconds until Natalie Canebride was little more than a tragic memory.

"One."

A second of pure, unrivalled terror…

"Mark."

Banick turned the key in perfect unison with Randbrough and much to Banick's shock; the missile control panel became alive. _The keys hadn't worked…_

The Captain started working quickly by disengaging the safeties while still holding the Smith and Wesson to Canebride's neck.

Master alarms began sounding, and one by one, the mentally unstable Captain began arming each of the 20 ballistic missiles held in the Atlantis's silos. The computer's voice, so cold and inhuman now, asked for the final verification of the grim orders it had just been given. "Nuclear launch sequence initiated. Please provide strategic verification codes now."

"Computer, Authorise: Randbrough, Captain Arnold S; launch verification Alpha, niner, three, seven, bravo, tango, delta, delta, one, zero."

The Bridge was bathed in blood red light as the red lamps – designed to counter flash burn – replaced the gentle blue glow of the command deck's normal lighting. "Authorization verified. Targeting telemetry uploading… Please provide final launch verification."

Randbrough turned around from the console to look at Banick with fiery, angered eyes. They seemed tortured now… different from the reserved, stern man who had occupied the center chair just minutes before. "The UEO is dying, commander. It is a shattered dream… an_ illusion. _It's only a matter of time before it falls, whether the Alliance destroys it, or it collapses from its own corruption – it's inevitable. Can you imagine the political and economic waste that would come from its collapse unchecked? It would mean famine and depression on a _global scale_ for _millions!_ Look around you at this boat… it's the manifestation of everything the UEO has become; _fear. _What kind of regime considers this the answer to the world's problems? Not even the Alliance is this bad… and now we can use the Atlantis to _end_ the UEO once and for all…"

"And you seriously think that nuking several hundred million people is the way to do it? You're insane."

"Am I?" asked Randbrough, almost too sincerely to be rhetorical.

Banick nodded slowly as it all came together. "Ainsley was right. You and the Secretary General have been playing with Bourne this the whole time, haven't you? That's why you burned him, isn't it; to give the world a face to blame for this war. You couldn't have the UEO seen as being the benevolent force of good will that fought to the bitter end… you had to destroy the very core of everything it stood for first. And now the seaQuest… What the hell are the Macs doing with it? How long has Bourne been playing you, Captain? Who's the puppeteer? President Bourne? Secretary Dallinsley?"

Randbrough still held his grip still firm on Canebride's throat. "Bourne was a means to an end. Nothing more. This runs higher than you will ever know."

Banick shook his head. Any sanity that remained in Randbrough was now long gone… He no longer felt anger towards him, only a cold, hollow pity. Randbrough was a puppet whose strings had been severed. He was alone… for whatever reason, something had changed in his plan… and now he had lost. "Captain… End this. You can't win."

"Alright, Commander… I _will._"

Without another word, Randbrough disengaged the last safety, and hit the switch.

_Checkmate._

  

**UEO High Court, Honolulu City, Hawaii. November 19th, 2040…**

Captain Ainsley sat in a small chair in one of the back rooms of the UEO's High Court with Commander Ben Adler and waited, all the while growing more and more impatient. The chief prosecutor, Commander Allison Jamieson was offering a deal; one that may benefit Ainsley… but all such deals had catches, the only question was whether the price was too high. The door to the small room opened, and Commander Jamieson walked in carrying a briefcase. She nodded to the 2 men in the room and sat down.

"Captain Ainsley…" she began sadly, as if making a confession. "I want to apologise for what happened yesterday. I was out of line… It was unfair, and I want you to know that you have nothing but my greatest respect."

"You have a funny way of showing it, Commander Jamieson…" replied Ainsley quietly

She bit her lip… and a heavy silence followed for several moments, and she opened her briefcase, and set down several papers on the table. "Captain, it's not too late to plead guilty. If you do so, I can guarantee a maximum sentence of 10 years with a dishonourable discharge. Given the circumstances, it's the best I can do."

Ainsley grimaced. "Commander," he paused, as if searching for the right words. "I did nothing wrong. I will not take 10 years off my life and throw my career away for nothing."

Jamieson sighed, looking to Adler for some help. She knew that Ainsley had lost the trial already, and it would take a miracle to save him. She suspected that Adler knew that as well, and was now quietly appealing to that fact. "What is my client looking at if we don't take this offer?" he asked, getting the hint.

"…Under UEO international law, probably 40 years with parole on good behaviour after 20," she said glumly. "If found guilty and the British decide to extradite… it could go to life or possibly the death penalty depending on how upset they are about this. I'm afraid the North Sea Confederation's sentencing of treason is quite harsh."

Ainsley did his best to keep his reservation, and Adler nodded quietly. "I will discuss it with the Captain and give you an answer when we've made a decision, councillor… thank you."

Jamieson nodded and began packing up some of the papers, leaving the important ones behind for Ainsley and Adler to work over. She'd gotten the best answer she could have hoped for and knew it only too well. "Very well… I'll leave you to think it over…Oh, and Captain?" She paused before leaving the room.

"Yes, Commander?"

"For what it's worth, sir… I really _am_ sorry."

As Commander Jamieson closed the door behind her, Adler sat back in his chair in silence as Ainsley sighed in defeat. "Mark, I think maybe you should seriously consider her offer. It's very good… I can tell you now that if she didn't feel some degree of sympathy for you, it would be a lot worse."

The Captain shook his head. He would not give in… and even in the face of almost overwhelming odds, nothing could get him to compromise on his principles. "No. I will see this through."

Adler looked down at the desk. "You know you're looking at life if you do."

"So I heard."

Ainsley wasn't a man to give up easily. The trial had been a sideshow from the very beginning. He was the fall-guy for the UEO, and he would not let them do that without one hell of a fight. The UEO was already at its knees, not to Macronesia, but to its own Secretary General. From the moment Dallinsley had ended his first transmission to Ainsley after the Nintoku skirmish, he suspected that something was wrong. Now he was certain. His only hope was that Commander Banick was smart, and had realised the same thing. If Ainsley had any chance of surviving this, then his crew would be the ones to decide his fate. "Ben… I need to be honest with you… But I seriously don't think it's a good idea for it to leave this room."

Adler nodded hesitantly. "…Alright. What is it?"

"Command can't be trusted, the Secretary General has played this thing from the start… He's been playing to Bourne for I don't know how long… and there is a lot more at stake here than just my _life."_

Adler's mouth was open in shock. "Mark, you're already up on treason. Do you know what kind of repercussions those kinds of accusations would have?"

"Yeah, I do."

Adler was in shock. Was Ainsley delusional? "Mark… You're actually serious, aren't you?"

"Everything points to the Secretary General being involved, Ben… seaQuest disappears… and he sweeps it under the rug while the Atlantis attempts to investigate. _Why?"_

"Mark, I… _You _need to think about this very carefully. If you aren't 100 percent sure of what your doing, you're only going to hurt yourself."

The attorney got up from the table and walked to the door. "Guard, the Captain and I are done." The door opened, and Adler shook his head sadly as he looked at Ainsley. "You need to think long and hard about this."

With that, Adler left without a backward glance. Ainsley's list of friends was rapidly growing shorter and shorter… and his only hope was now a thousand miles away, with one man and one submarine that now stood at the very edge of a dangerous precipice. He had meant it when he said there was more at stake than just his life… and he only hoped he was wrong.




	7. A Wing and a Prayer

**VII**

**A Wing and a Prayer**

**UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. The Phoenix Islands. November 19th, 2040…**

With Randbrough distracted for that split second, Banick took his chance, lunged forward and spear-tackled him to the deck, but it too late. Banick's mind was filled with rage for what Randbrough had done... But his anger was short-lived as the fire control computer began to indicate that rather than firing the nukes, the missile silo doors were _closing!_ "Launch sequence failed," announced the Computer. "Command presence could not be identified: Canebride, Natalie J. Full weapons systems lockout initiated."

It had worked! Without the third key that was still registered in the Atlantis's fire control computer, the nukes could not be armed. Randbrough had effectively tried to fire the missiles without using the correct protocols and the computer had recognised this… and locked out the fire controls. Randbrough yelled in anger as his weapon went flying from his hands and clattered to the floor. Straddling the Captain, Banick balled his fists and brought his right arm down in to the Captain's nose with extreme force. For a brief moment, James Banick was filled with a wave of great relief as his fist made solid contact with the Randbrough's jaw with a satisfying "crack". Before the Captain could react however, Canebride had already pulled herself up from the deck and retrieved the Captain's side arm, and held it on Randbrough. Not far away, the two marines who had stood watch had done the same, retrieving their own weapons and running over to level them on the Captain. Randbrough breathed heavily and shook his head, looking up in stunned silence at the three weapons now trained on him, and the stern-faced officers behind them. Banick got up and flexed his hand a few times.

"I _really _needed that," he said with a smile. He looked to the 2 missile control keys still lodged in the dead fire control console, and then back to the Randbrough, who still lay on the deck. "Captain Randbrough… Under article 20 section 12 of NORPAC command regulations, I am relieving you of command. You are under arrest for espionage, dereliction of duty, treason and conspiracy."

The Captain said nothing, but the Marines were visibly twitching to put a bullet between his eyes. Banick looked at the two Marine Lieutenants and smiled smugly. "Gentlemen… take the Captain to the brig. If he gives you any trouble; shoot him."

"Yes _sir!" _The Marines smiled sinisterly, almost daring Randbrough to try and push them. Given the opportunity, the two grunts would probably love to beat the proverbial stuffing from the Captain. Cuffing him, they practically dragged him off the deck and took him quickly and silently from the bridge.

Banick quickly walked over to Canebride who was now standing in a daze beside the darkened weapons stations, the pistol in her hand now hanging limply by her side. Shock had begun to set in as the reality of what has just happened finally started to hit home. "Are you ok?" he asked her.

"I'll… be fine," she replied with a hesitant, but otherwise genuine smile. "That felt good, didn't it, Jim?"

"Oh yes… _hell _yes," he replied, flexing his hand a few more times. "Resume your station, Lieutenant Commander… Let's end this."

A smile. "Yes sir."

Banick ran a hand over the back of the Captain's chair. It was too tempting to pass up, and he let himself fall in to the chair, allowing a small smile as he realised that all eyes on the Bridger were now fixed squarely on him; their Commander. But this time, the faces were covered with confident, supportive smiles. For the time being, they were _his _crew. Banick was still trying to fully understand why the missile launch hadn't worked. On any ballistic missile submarine, the launch commands could only be completed if each key was completely valid, in this case - instead of the usual 2 keys - the Atlantis computer still had Captain Ainsley's launch codes logged in to the system after it had been reprogrammed to accept Natalie Canebride's authorization. That meant that there were _three _officers who needed to initiate the launch. Randbrough hasn't realised this, and had tried forcing a launch with only two. The computer had seen this, and initiated a full weapons lock down cycle. Now, the Atlantis's nukes were completely useless. The only thing that still eluded Banick was how Captain Ainsley had known it would come to this…

"Sir, the seaQuest is hailing us," reported Jack Phillips, breaking the tense silence of the command deck.

Banick nodded while he straightened his uniform jacket. Sitting in the center chair, he decided, he could definitely get used to. "Put them through."

"Aye sir."

The main view screen resolved in to the familiar view of the seaQuest's bridge… but there was one difference, the bridge crew was manned by _Macronesian_ officers. The sight made Banick sick to the stomach. The Macronesian Captain onscreen was familiar somehow… but he looked impatient. "It's about time. Where is Captain Randbrough?"

A glimmer of recognition sparkled in Banick's eye as he finally recognised the Macronesian Commander. It was the same one who they faced at Nintoku. "Captain Randbrough is_… indisposed," _he replied. "This is Comm-"-Banick smiled as a sudden and very appealing realization came to him- "_Captain_ James Banick _in command_ of the United Earth Ocean's vessel _Atlantis._ If I'm not mistaken… that submarine you are on belongs to _us. _You will surrender it, and standby to be boarded."

A dumbfounded stare met Banick on that note. "Is this is joke? I demand to speak to Captain Randbrough!"

Obviously the situation had not fully registered through the thick skull of the Macronesian Commander. "…Do I need to repeat myself?" asked Banick threateningly. "Surrender seaQuest _now… _Or I will open fire and take it by force."

The Macronesian was visibly trying to stop himself from scoffing in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something… but thought the better of it, looked off-screen and nodded, and his image winked out.

"So much for negotiating…" said Banick, totally unsurprised by the reaction. "Ryan… do we still have basic weapons control? Or have we been locked out?"

"No, we've still got basic fire control, Commander... but missile systems are completely inoperable."

"Fine," said Banick. He doubted they would have to use the missile armaments anyway. "Fire a warning shot across seaQuest's bow... tubes one and two. Helm; bring us about hard to port, show the seaQuest our bows, and move all WSKRS forward."

Pinned between the Macronesian fleet and the seaQuest behind, Atlantis had no where to go. She was pinned; and that made her only more dangerous. The ASV's massive bow came around quickly to bear on the seaQuest in a daunting attack posture; putting all 24 of her torpedo batteries to bear on the considerably smaller DSV. 2 torpedoes shot out of her forward tubes to cross the seaQuest's bow, exploding just a couple of hundred yards in front of her at full strength. The explosion of the thousand-pound plasma warheads was enough to rattle the seaQuest just enough to let it know what it was in for. While it was a measured show of force, it was nothing when compared to the swarm of sub fighters that began pouring from the Atlantis's ventral hull, scattering in all directions to oppose whatever subfighters the Macronesians may throw at them.

The Alliance vessels countered, coming around in attack formations to flank the UEO battlewagon on both sides. Lysanders quickly began to appear out of the murky darkness to swarm over the UEO Raptors, buzzing them and putting them off guard, but not actually firing. It was a scare tactic. In order to win, the Macronesian fleet would have to keep the Atlantis and her subfighter wings off balance, and in disarray; divide and conquer.

"Commander, it looks like we got their attention… And not in the way we'd hoped. They're coming about… weapons are hot. We have torpedoes in the water, coming in on bearings zero-one-eight, zero-five-seven, one-one-nine and one-one five. A dozen total sir,"

Callaghan's grim report was delivered calmly, and a lesser officer would probably have panicked. Banick responded just as coolly, taking charge of the rapidly escalating situation. "Alright… rotate batteries six through twelve to intercept tubes, and if you can get a lock; fire. Maintain shooting solutions on the carriers, and fire at will. Bring the pulse cannons on line and target the seaQuest."

"Aye, Commander."

A full spread of intercepts screamed out from the Atlantis's torpedo batteries and began closing in on the Macronesian weapons that were already approaching the ASV very rapidly. Nearby subfighters that had now begun engaging one another in close-quarters knife fights occasionally broke off to try and shoot down the torpedoes before they could get any closer, but for a few Macronesian Lysanders that tried this against the Atlantis's intercepts, it proved to be a fatal error as pursuing Raptors quickly dispatched them with hails of gunfire.

Most of the Macronesian torpedoes exploded in tiny shockwaves as the intercepts either slipped through or hit their targets. Elsewhere, the Atlantis's own weapons had evaded the Macronesian's defences and had found their marks solidly against 2 of the Aleus carriers that were still spewing out Lysanders.

"Impact," reported Callaghan. "Confirm 8 direct hits. One of the carriers is breaking up and another is pulling back… Several of the enemy fish got through out our intercepts. They're going to hit."

"Understood, tactical. Brace for collision!"

"Aye. All hands; incoming torpedoes; rig for collision! Brace, brace, brace!"

It was six Macronesian torpedoes that had gotten through. With their hypersonars lighting up the UEO ship, they closed in quickly, with several nearby Raptors straining to close the distance and kill them before they hit. Hades cannon fire lit up the water, destroying a few of the torpedoes, but there simply wasn't enough time to deal with them all, and they buried themselves deep within the Atlantis's side. Whatever they were, the Macronesians weren't stupid, and the torpedoes had been set to a delayed detonation. Breaking through the bioskin and the underlying outer hull, the weapons lodged themselves deep within the pressure hull of the ASV and exploded in conflagrations of superheated plasma. Shockwaves rattled the pressure hull, bringing several bulkheads apart at the seams and causing severe internal flooding.

The effect was a lot like bashing a tin can with a sledgehammer, and the concussive explosions were felt heavily across the submarine; most of all on the Bridge where master alarms blared over the thunder of protests from the groaning hull. "We've got hull breaches on decks A through D! We're taking on water!"

"Seal off those sections," barked Banick over the wail of the sirens. "Tubes 14 through 24: full spread! Take out the Orions!"

…Lieutenant Janes Roberts broke hard to port in her Raptor at close to 100 knots as a Macronesian Lysander hot on her tail tried to cut her down with a barrage of Subduction cannon fire. She was oblivious to the chaos of the battle as a whole, with all her attention given over to the person who was giving everything they had to try and kill her. Every turn she made was countered by the Lysander. Whoever the pilot was, he was good. "Viper, this is Hunter, I've picked up a straggler! I can't shake him! Get him off me!"

'Viper' was the call sign of Rapier 3, Tom Reynolds. "I'm on it, Rapier 2… Hold on."

Roberts tried to break hard again, but the Mac following her was good, _too _good. He had to be a veteran. Her Raptor tore upward against the undersea currents and snap-rolled quickly to evade the Lysander's cannon fire. The crackling energy from the subduction rounds left rapidly dispersing trails in the water, shooting past her Raptor's canopy with dangerously improving accuracy. The Mac Lysander stayed with her through every turn. Her concentration was broken briefly as her consoles lit up red in warning and the Lysander managed to get a solid torpedo lock. _'Oh shit,' _she thought silently. "Come on Rapier 2… It's now or _never!"_ she said with growing concern.

Tilting her head back and over her shoulder, she managed to catch a glimpse of the annoying Alliance fighter as it juked left and right while trying to maintain its torpedo lock. Every time the Lysander would settle in to place for a clean kill, she would break her Raptor down in to a steep dive, or rapidly shoot up and away to the side, quickly breaking the target lock. But she couldn't keep it up forever. Another target lock; this had gone far enough. Very deliberately, Roberts kicked in full throttle and threw the stick forward hard, sending the Raptor in to a stomach churning dive that made blood rush to her head with extremely heavy negative Gs. As the Raptor approached the jagged seafloor at alarming speed, the Lysander stayed its pursuit… and finally fired. Master alarms blared in Robert's cockpit as the Lysander's torpedo rapidly closed on her tail, and she was now gripping the stick with white-knuckled intensity. Reaching the seafloor, she hit the release for her noisemakers, and pulled back hard on the stick. The sudden reversal of blood pressure this manoeuvre caused just about made her blackout, and a lesser pilot would have… but experience had tempered Roberts, and she'd learned to control it to an extent. The torpedo initially went after the decoys, and by the time its tracking systems had realised their error, it was far too late; and the torpedo crashed in to the seabed and exploded in a tiny nova of white fire.

The same could not be said for the Lysander which snapped upward at the last moment, shooting through the vaporised water created by its own torpedo and trying to stay on the UEO fighter's tail. But in the moment that the Lysander passed through the turbulent, eddied water created by the torpedo's explosion, its sensors went blind… and the pilot didn't see Tom Reynolds until it was way too late. Hades cannon fire cut through the Lysander from stem to stern, ripping it apart like the vicious claws of a predator would do to its prey. "Scratch one bogey!" was the exuberant cry from Reynolds.

Roberts saw all this through her sensors, and breathed a sigh of relief as she broke away to rejoin the fight. "I owe you a beer, three."

"Too right, Rapier two. I've got your wing."

Roberts nodded as she switched back to her HUD sensors, and noticed another group of Lysanders that were leaving a nearby Aleus class Carrier. She smiled grimly beneath her oxygen mask, and bracketed the big submarine in her crosshairs. "Ok, Rapiers 3 and 5: On my wing. Tag that carrier – she's putting out fighters faster than we can destroy them. Turn it to toast…"

…The bridge of the Atlantis lurched again as another volley of torpedoes slammed in to the hull just aft of the bridge. The Macronesians had done a spectacular job of surrounding the Atlantis, and were now attacking from every possible vector. It was turning in to a battle of attrition; the dwarfing form of the Atlantis; armed to the teeth, against nearly 2 dozen enemy attack submarines, and the seaQuest DSV herself. Callaghan's sentiments however didn't put the Atlantis in the most favourable of positions. _"Damn_ it!" he yelled over the carnage. "We're losing power across section 12. Those last torpedoes blew the power distribution nodes to hell. We're running on batteries."

"Damn," said Banick unhappily, looking around at a Bridge that was quickly being brought to ruin under the sever bombardment the ship was taking. "EVA: Tell Wing Commander Hitchcock to get his fighter's covering our ass. This ship's too big to come about on those vanguard units… he'll have to take care of them."

"Aye sir."

"Ryan, give me a full damage report," ordered Banick.

"We've got substantial hull damage across sections three through seven, ten through sixteen and twenty through twenty-nine. We've been hit no less than 15 times. Flooding in most sections is contained, but we've lost torpedo batteries sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, and twenty three. Torpedo stocks are at 45 percent."

Banick grimaced. The Atlantis had absorbed more firepower than any other naval warship in history, and what was even more astounding was that she was still operational… _mostly. _Despite her size and firepower, it simply didn't have the same mobility as the Alliance fleet, and she was beginning to pay for it. "Bring us to point-blank range with their lead units!" he yelled.

"…Are you joking?" asked Callaghan incredulously. "At that range our intercepts will be useless. We'll be pounded!"

"So will theirs, Commander. And our guns are bigger… Keep firing those damned tubes!"

Endless salvos of torpedoes poured out of the Atlantis, directed with deadly accuracy towards the squadrons of Macronesian Orions that surrounded the enraged UEO submarine. Despite salvo after salvo, and the Macronesian fleet being gradually chipped away, the Atlantis was taking more than she could dish out. Hull breaches covered most of her decks, and while the genetically-engineered bioskin was working to seal off the ragged, torn holes, flooding was beginning to hinder basic operations. It seemed that despite everything she did, Atlantis simply could not win, and she had no where to run.

But from the darkness, Confusion began to set in. Leaping out of the trench line, mysterious shadows leapt in to the fray. Within seconds, the Macronesian Lysanders were beset out of no where by these black fighters; they were SF-37 Raptors, but where they had come from was anyone's guess. They didn't belong to the Atlantis, but they were certainly making the presence felt in very short order. For the outgunned Rapiers and their supporting Spectre squadrons, they were more than a welcome addition to the fray. On the bridge of the Atlantis, the arrival of these new subfighters had the sonar operator in a stunned silence. He spun around in his chair faster than a gunshot, and looked at Banick in amazement _"Commander!"_

Banick was under immense stress between trying to direct the battle, and keep his ship intact, and looked at the sensor chief with eyes of fire. _"Spit it out, Lieutenant!"_

The Lieutenant's face bore an expression of pure shock. "Sir, we've got new contacts! Flights of unknown subfighters just pulled out of the trench! They're attacking the Macs!"

Banick was out of the command chair like a champagne cork leaving the bottle, and was already half way across the bridge in just a few strides. Jack Phillips added to the confusion. "Commander, we've got an incoming transmission! IFF is UEO… It's the _Aquarius!"_

  

…Captain Lauren Hornsby sat in the center chair of the Aquarius ASV as her battle-rigged ship charged in to the fray. It was an oddly surreal moment; like something out of a western where the United States cavalry would ride to the rescue of the lone, besieged company of infantry. The Aquarius's bridge screen resolved to the eerily familiar sight of the Atlantis's bridge. It was like looking in to a hellish mirror where everything was the same, but in a state of total chaos. To very little surprise, Commander Banick was seated in the Captain's chair. Sitting there, his face a chiselled and ragged mess, he looked about twice his age of just 32. "Captain Hornsby, you know how to make an entry!"

Hornsby, being calm and controlled – the complete opposite of the Atlantis XO - smiled. "A little bird told us you might need some help. Seems he was right. Our ETA is less than a minute. We've already got our strike wings in the water… I'm sure you noticed. Stand by, commander."

The uplink with the Atlantis ended, and Hornsby turned to her bridge crew. They were some of the best officers in the fleet, and now they would prove it. "Tactical! Load all tubes and get me shooting solutions on those Orions! Helm! Take us in on the Atlantis' port-quarter, let's give these damned Macs something to worry about…"

  

One of the black-hulled Raptors shot past the Atlantis at incredible speed, gunning down a pair of Lysanders in quick succession. Wing Commander Gabriel Hitchcock saw this from the cockpit of his own Raptor, and knew almost straight away who the pilot was. He'd recognised the mysterious squadron the moment they'd arrived; their black fuselage and white-winged crests that marked the fighter's tails were a dead give away. They were the VF-115 Dark Angels, under the command of Wing Commander Corinn Roderick. The Angels had an infamous reputation; perhaps as much so as his own _Rapiers_. Assigned to the Aquarius, the Dark Angels shared a heated rivalry with the Rapiers, and on several occasions that rivalry had extended beyond simple verbal jests. Typically, the Rapiers were seen as the better squadron by the fleet, but deep down, Hitchcock knew that at this level of skill, the difference between "First" and "Second" best was utterly trivial. Roderick's pilots were easily as good as his own, and at times like these, he was only too grateful for the fact. "Archangel… this is Paladin," he said in to his radio, using their old call-signs. He'd known Roderick for years, and could almost hear the smile creeping on to her delicate features.

"Well, well," came the reply. "…If it isn't the intrepid musketeer and his band of merry men. How is life, Gabe?"

Hitchcock grimaced at the sultry, seductive sound of Irish brogue in her voice. For a moment, he'd forgotten how synonymous it was with an impending tongue-lashing. "Nice of you to drop by," he said coolly. "We were beginning to think that the Rapiers would have all this to themselves."

"Oh please," replied Roderick as her Raptor pulled alongside his, wing-to-wing. "Save your pride and don't bother, Gabe. Your pilots are good, but they're not that good. Quit your bitching and start shooting. We can deal with the rivalries later."

He smiled, looking over his shoulder at the black Raptor that rode beside his own. Roderick was ten years younger than he was at a mere 30 years old. She still had her youth, and the attitude to go with it, but there was no denying that she was one of the best pilots in the entire UEO, and right now… she happened to be right. "Fine. Last to five 5 buys the Beer back in Pearl, Quinn. Take the Dark Angels to zero-three-zero and cover the Atlantis's northern flanks. The Rapiers will handle those carriers… you just keep their fighters off us."

"You know it… Alright Dark Angels, hit your burners. No heroics… I want to see clean kills and nothing more."

In the shallow waters of the Phoenix Islands, the battle continued to rage. Atlantis was still holding her own under the constant bombardment of torpedoes as her sister slipped into position next to her. The pair of mighty Advanced Submergence Vehicles was an awesome sight to behold, but all they did was to draw even more fire from the Alliance fleet. One squadron of UEO Spectres from the Atlantis weaved around the shattered wreckage of a sinking Aleus Carrier with a flight of Macronesian Lysanders in close pursuit. Another volley of torpedoes was fired from the Atlantis, and then shortly after, the Aquarius added her own fire to the battle, and the weapons homed in on the vanguard force of Orions. The effectiveness of the Macronesian intercepts was severely limited, and the barrage of torpedoes slipped straight passed and slammed in to several of the Orions. Unlike the two big UEO battlewagons that opposed them, the Orions could not take so much punishment and survive. The torpedoes completely decimated the submarines, leaving their hulls a shattered ruin. Of six attack submarines, only two remained.

Perhaps the most noticeable presence of the battle however laid at the very center of the Macronesian formations. Shielded by squadrons of Lysanders and being protected by seemingly endless intercept torpedo fire, the seaQuest DSV was untouched and continued to pour torpedoes in to the sea that struck the much larger ASVs. With the arrival of the Aquarius, it was now obvious that the Alliance fleet had no chance of winning and the few submarines that remained in their ranks gradually began to fall back – the seaQuest included. Slowly, the old DSV fell back in to the trench; a last bid to escape.

"…Commander Banick", said Captain Hornsby on the main screen of the Atlantis.

"Go ahead, Aquarius," replied Banick as he slowly began to calm him self down now that things were finally going their way.

Hornsby's face was still calm. She'd done this many times before, and it obviously took a lot to shake her nerves. "Atlantis doesn't stand a chance against all these Macronesian attack submarines. You've taken enough torpedoes already to sink a small navy and it would seem that fleet Intel has vastly underestimated local forces."

Banick nodded in agreement. If Atlantis stayed… then she would probably not leave. "Agreed. What are you suggesting?"

"Aquarius can handle the rest of the Macronesians, but we've got a problem. The seaQuest is withdrawing. From where we are now, Aquarius is pinned. Judging from your position, I'd say Atlantis is in the best place to intercept seaQuest before she can escape."

Again, she was right. Aquarius's timely arrival had redirected the efforts of the Macronesians, leaving Atlantis herself as a secondary priority. Aside from a few stubborn attack submarines, the Atlantis was now in open waters with a free run straight to the nearby trench… _and _the seaQuest. "We'll get the job done, Captain. Give them hell."

Hornsby gave him a smug and confident smile. "We intend to, Commander… Good hunting."

The image of the Aquarius's bridge disappeared from the view screen, and Banick turned to the helm... seaQuest couldn't be allowed to escape to Macronesian waters, and he'd be damned if he was about to let that happen. "Natalie… Lay in an intercept course with seaQuest. Give me everything you've got."

  

**UEO High Court, Honolulu City, Hawaii. November 19th, 2040…**

Ben Adler was in damage control. His questioning of Captain Ainsley had now been going now for at least 20 minutes. He was being extremely thorough, making sure he covered every possible grounds and thus denying Jamieson any possible loophole through which to work. Discrediting her argument was essential if they had any chance of resurrecting the trial. "…So, Captain… to recap for the record of the court, who was it that the orders of shakedown had come from?"

"The Secretary General of the UEO. Arthur Dallinsley."

"So, at the time of your mission, you were operating under the regulations and orders of the UEO, and _not _the royal navy. This to me seems rather straight forward. How you could argue that basic fact, I don't know."

Adler stopped, and turned to address the Jury and the rest of the court, his questioning had, for the most part, come to an end. Ainsley thought that he'd done a pretty solid job of establishing to very little doubt that there was no way he could have broken General order six of the UEO charter. By simple order of precedence, the Atlantis's first and foremost duty was the defence of the colony, and while the argument had encountered many objections from Commander Jamieson, Adler had stayed true to his line of questioning, and with the presentation of various articles of evidence, had won through. It seemed almost absurd that so much attention had been paid to such a seemingly insignificant matter that seemed ridiculously simple on paper, and yet their entire defence relied on the integrity of that interpretation.

"_How _can a Captain be subject to two conflicting sets of orders?" he asked rhetorically to the court. "On one hand… you have the very first article of the UEO charter which compels every UEO commander to answer calls of mercy under international law, regardless of confederate alignment or territorial disputes, and on the other, we have article 2, section 3 of the charter which explicitly prohibits the use of unsolicited force to resolve a conflict… Ok… Captain, can you tell the court what _rules of engagement _are? I mean… for some people sitting there, they probably think that 'rules of engagement' are guidelines that you would impose to allow someone to marry your daughter."

The light jest prompted a quiet chuckle from the stands, and a smile from Ainsley. (Funnily enough, even the prosecution and jury could see the humour in the remark) Ainsley could see where the argument was going… but of course, so could Jamieson. "Rules of engagement are an internationally-recognised set of conditions under which a military force may engage the enemy in combat. They are usually established before the onset of hostilities. In peace time, the general rule of engagement is not to fire unless you are fired upon first."

Adler nodded, but did not follow through with the question that Ainsley would have expected. He would save the most obvious question until last. "…I see. And are _civilians _protected under rules of engagement, Captain?"

"Yes they are. Rules of Engagement are built on international law. Usually, breaking the rules of engagement is grounds for a hearing, or in extreme cases, a war crimes tribunal. Obviously, firing on civilians under _any _circumstances is considered unacceptable by those laws."

"So really… it was the _Macronesians _who were responsible for breaking those rules when they fired on the colony in the first place. Atlantis was merely responding under internationally-established laws."

"That's correct, yes."

Adler nodded slowly. Now they were getting somewhere. "One final question, Captain," he said as he paced back and forth across the floor. "…When you engaged the Alliance submarines… who fired first?"

"The Macronesians."

Adler smiled with a curt nod. That would do. "Thankyou, Captain. No further questions, your honour."

Admiral Locke nodded gratefully, and looked to Commander Jamieson on the prosecution bench who was busily scribbling down notes. "Prosecution… would you like to cross-examine?"

"We would, your honour," she replied, standing up and walking to the floor. Ainsley sighed… no end was in sight.

Her notes in-hand, Jamieson gave Ainsley a smile; a predatory smile - a warning that this was going to be bad. She did it on purpose of course, as a nervous witness under cross examination was never a bad thing for a lawyer. "The defence has argued that Captain Ainsley could not have been in breach of standing orders given the various extenuating circumstances surrounding the Nintoku incident. But do you deny, Captain… that your actions _did _in fact lead to a state of war between the nations of the UEO and Macronesia?"

"No, I do not."

"But you maintain that your actions were legal under international law, yes?"

"That's correct."

"Do you know what this is, Captain?" she said, holding up a sheet of paper which bore the familiar letterhead of the North Sea Confederation's military command, although admittedly about 30 years out of date.

"To venture a guess," replied Ainsley cautiously, "I'd say they are the orders signed by the Royal Navy that released me to UEO service in 2016."

"Very good, Captain," she said with an approving nod. "You have an excellent memory… So tell me… Do you remember what it is the orders actually say?"

"I'm afraid not…" said Ainsley, straining as he tried to recall. "I remember the basics, but the smaller details are lost to me."

"Is that so…" said Jamieson, narrowing her eyes. "Prosecution exhibit twenty-seven; the open-ended orders signed by Admiral Sir John Hollingworth, commander in chief of the British North Sea fleet on March 14th, two-thousand-sixteen that authorizes the services of Lieutenant Mark Ainsley to the navy of the United Earth Oceans Organization."

Admiral Locke extended his hand to Jamieson. "May I see that?" he asked.

Jamieson handed the letter to the Judge, and then referred to her notes as the Admiral read through the letter. "Now, Captain… do you consider yourself an officer of the Royal Navy?"

"Of course. My commission was never resigned," said Ainsley truthfully.

"But as part of this commission, your services are currently signed to the UEO, yes?"

"Correct."

"So… Captain…" continued Jamieson with mock confusion. "I don't understand. How can you be absolved of your responsibilities to the Royal Navy if your commission was never resigned?"

Ainsley shook his head impassively. "When I signed on to the UEO navy, I changed commands from the NSC to the UEO's naval command. The two departments are completely exclusive of one another… and the operations we conduct are completed as part of a mutual agreement from both sides."

"Indeed…" said Jamieson with a lopsided smile. "I quote," she said, looking to the court and the jury once more. "From paragraph sixteen of these orders; _'While these orders are open-ended and do authorise the services of Mark Ainsley to the United Earth Oceans Navy, he is **not **absolved of his responsibilities or duties in representing the crown of His Majesty King Charles the third, the Royal Navy, and/or the North Sea Confederation while discharging his duties, and will be bound by their respective regulations and codes of uniform.'_"

The Captain's heart skipped a beat. Jamieson had just completely destroyed Adler's argument with one very infallible and destructive stroke. She looked back to the Judge and shook her head slowly. "Nothing further, your honour."

  

**VF-107 Rapiers. The Phoenix Islands. November 19th, 2040…**

Keeping her grip on the yolk steady, Lieutenant Roberts gently eased her Raptor upwards towards the Macronesian subcarrier and with a quick flick of a gloved thumb, disarmed the weapons safeties for her torpedoes. "Rapiers 3, this is 2. I'm uploading targeting data to you now... Pick your target, and fire on my orders. Rapier 5: Cover our tails."

The replies of acknowledgement were practically instant as the well-trained pilots fell in line with their wing leader. The trio of Raptors, doing almost 200 knots, were rapidly closing the distance with the enemy carrier. Several Lysanders noticed their approach, and broke away to engage, but they were either too far away to catch the UEO Raptors in time, or were quickly gunned down by Rapier 5 who stayed a watchful guard over his comrades. Graceful lines and long, sweeping bulges down its sides that were the hangars gave the Aleus class a fearfully recognisable form. Small, but very mobile, they were always bad news for anyone who happened across them on the wrong side of Macronesia's border. This particular one however, was about to meet a very abrupt demise. Lieutenant Roberts watched the distance on her HUD's targeting sensors tick down, waiting for a solid tone, and an indication to fire. Finally, it went solid red and the steady 'beeps' that had steadily increased in tempo turned to a solid tone; a target lock. Without a moment's hesitation, she depressed the trigger. "Rapier 2: _Fox 3!"_

As a pair of torpedoes rocketed away from her fighter with a scream of their igniting plasma engines, she snap rolled away to avoid becoming a very tempting target for a whole heap of Lysanders that were now almost certainly on their toes. Lieutenant Tom Reynolds, who had been sitting off her port wing, issued a similar report. "Rapier 3: _Fox 3!"_

Between the two Raptors, the four Mark-95 GSM-8 "Rattlesnake" torpedoes shot away in to the darkness, finding their way to the target by their advanced guidance systems. Nearby, a Macronesian Cepheus class anti-fighter frigate detected the weapons, and its point defence cannons quickly began to track them and start firing. But at this close range, there was simply not enough time and the UEO torpedoes buried themselves in to the side of the Aleus with multiple, heavy impacts. Between the four torpedoes, two and a half thousand pounds of superheated, high-energy plasma exploded across the hull, breaching it in multiple sections. Quickly, the carrier began to keel over to one side as thousands of tonnes of water started to pour in to its innards.

Roberts smiled at the slow-motion destruction of the Carrier as she rolled the Raptor through the chaotic battlefield around her, swinging under large pieces of neutrally-buoyant debris and snap rolling around the ruined hulls of crippled and gutted Orion class SSNs that were struggling to keep from sinking. A shrill beep from her sensors made her look down instinctively, and she cursed._ "Damn it._ Rapier leader, this is 2. I've just picked up another wave of bombers coming in. They're headed straight for the Aquarius... and there're a lot of them. I count nearly 30."

"Got it, Rapier 2. All flights; form up and get back to the Aquarius at best possible speed. Let's see if we can give Commander Roderick's pilots a hand."

"Aye. Fangs-out, sir."

With the subfighter battle above just beginning to get in full swing, a new duel was beginning to take shape within the depths of the Hemmingway trench below. Plunging as deep as she could, and as fast as her great bulk would allow, the seaQuest DSV was engulfed by darkness as the last vestiges of natural light disappeared from the sea around her. On her bridge, Macronesian Captain Lance Raymond was only too aware that in pursuit, trailing by some distance was the Atlantis ASV 8100… It had taken an operation of immense coordination to capture this submarine, thought Raymond, and he was not just about to let the UEO steal her away again. He recalled reading the vivid reports of how Macronesian Marines had descended on to the crippled seaQuest over a week before, killing or subduing every person alive on the UEO's former flagship, taking those who were left alive or unable to fight as prisoners, and claiming the submarine as their own. Yes; they had received help from internal sources within the UEO, but it did not take anything away from the achievement. For his part in the operation, Raymond had been rewarded with command of the venerable submarine, and he was relishing every moment. No, their plan to take the Atlantis a prize today had failed… how, he could only guess. The treacherous UEO Captain, Arnold Randbrough had been meant to deliver the submarine and its entire crew in to his waiting arms, but instead, the Atlantis's executive officer had somehow intervened, and plans had changed. The unexpected and most inconvenient arrival of the Aquarius had only added to the problems, but now he had the means and firepower with which to dispatch the vaunted Atlantis, and he would.

Swivelling around in the command chair, he called to the helm officer who steered the great submarine through the depths of the trench, and asked for his report. "Helm… What's our position?"

"We're 3 miles in to the Trench's northern approach. Depth beneath the keel is six thousand feet."

"Full stop!" he ordered quickly. "Take us straight down, Lieutenant… all rudders to center."

"Aye, sir."

seaQuest couldn't outrun the Atlantis forever, and even with the big ASV damaged as it was, she was still more than a match for them head-on, as Raymond had found much to his chagrin just a matter of days before. He'd watched as the Atlantis's imposing torpedo batteries had ripped through his squadron of attack submarines almost effortlessly at the Nintoku colony, and he would not make the same mistake again. "Rig for silent running," he ordered. "Tactical: reload all tubes. Plasma warheads to 100 percent charge. Rig their guidance systems for automatic target acquisition."

"Aye, Captain; loading all tubes. Plasma torpedoes to 100 percent yield."

Now, the seaQuest would wait. He had to admit, the UEO really knew how to build a submarine; seaQuest was by far the most fundamentally advanced ship he had ever seen, and despite the numerous upgrades that it must have received over the years, he could only wonder what the Atlantis was like. It was a shame they weren't able to capture the ASV. The damage to the UEO's morale would have been utterly devastating. Instead, he would wait until Atlantis descended in to the trench, and hopefully completely fail to notice the seaQuest lying silently at rest in the cold depths below. The ASV would pass straight overhead without every firing a shot… and he would then put the accursed UEO ship to rest… _Permanently. _The predators were now the prey…

…A few miles away, the Atlantis glided through the narrow ravines of the Hemmingway trench's northern-most approaches. The jagged walls of the ravine missed the big wings of the ASV by just a few dozen yards as Natalie Canebride and Madeline Hayes skilfully piloted the ship towards the trench just ahead. "Lieutenant, what's the range to the seaQuest?" asked James Banick.

"Uncertain, sir. She's just entered Hemmingway. We won't know until we clear the trench heads."

Banick grimaced. He hated being blind. It led to unpleasant surprises that were generally very bad news. seaQuest had chosen by far _the _most effective way to escape. In the same position, Banick would have done exactly the same thing. The Hemmingway trench was deep enough so that it provided passage for even the largest of submarines, but at the same time, the trench's ridge lines were so perilous on navigational charts that it was almost impossible to discern submarine from rock when viewed from above. Atlantis could have been walking in to a trap, and they'd never know until it was too late. "Commander Callaghan?"

"Yes sir?"

"Load and flood all torpedo batteries... Rig torpedo guidance systems for snapshots. I want to let go everything we have at a moment's notice, and I don't care if you don't have a shooting solution."

"Aye sir."

Banick had a very bad feeling about this. He got up and began walking around the bridge to the sensor station that was now being manned by Lieutenant Jack Phillips after the duty officer in charge of the station had been injured, and taken to sickbay. Despite being on the Atlantis now for nearly 2 weeks, he still had not gotten used to the feel of the split-level bridge. It felt way too open. Such space was a complete luxury, and it was a vast change from the often confined spaces of the bridge on a Poseidon class subfighter carrier. _"Where are you…" _whispered Banick as he leaned over Phillip's shoulder to look at the 3D charts being displayed on the hypersonar screens.

"I wish I could do more, sir," said Phillips, shaking his head. "I've already sent WSKRS Loner and Junior ahead to try and give us sonar coverage past that shelf ahead, but it's going to take them a while to get there."

"It's alright, Lieutenant," said Banick quietly, patting the man on the shoulder. "We'll find her."

If possible, he wanted the seaQuest intact, but somehow he doubted that the Macs would just hold up their hands and surrender with such a ship at their disposal. Even if she was old and outgunned, seaQuest still had enough firepower to do some very serious damage, and he was certain they wouldn't simply give up without a fight. If necessary, Atlantis would sink her, and make sure that she stayed out of Alexander Bourne's hands.

"We're entering the Hemmingway trench, Commander," reported Canebride from the helm. "Depth beneath the keel is six-zero-zero-nine feet and falling rapidly."

"Thank you helm… slow to six-zero knots. Steady as she goes."

"Six-zero knots, aye. Steady as she goes."

Long moments passed, but still there was no sign of their elusive prey. The bridge was deathly silent. Not a word was said, and you could have heard a pin drop. "Jack? Anything?" asked Banick.

"Not a damned thing, sir…" replied Phillips quietly. A second later, he frowned, bringing a hand to his right earphone slowly. "…Wait… I've got something on the acoustic array…" he reported. Another beat… Phillip's face suddenly became white with fear, and he tore off the headphones and looked at the bridge crew behind him. _"Shit! _We've got torpedoes dead astern in our baffles; closing _fast!"_

Outside, a dozen torpedoes were indeed closing with the Atlantis. Coming out of the darkness behind her, the torpedoes closed in at alarming speed; their guidance systems locked on and homing in on the massive sonar signature that the ASV presented. Banick sprinted back to the Conn and practically threw himself in to the chair. "All aft intercepts: fire at will! All decks brace for impacts. Sound collision!"

Callaghan wasted no time in repeating the order in to the PA. _"All hands, Rig for collision! Brace, Brace, Brace!"_

With very little warning, and before the intercepts had even left their tubes, the torpedoes slammed the Atlantis's stern with full force. The organic hull skin of the ASV was incinerated by the plasma warheads while the heavily-armoured Titanium hull was torn apart, impact after impact. Some twelve torpedoes in total ravaged the big submarine, leaving the stern a gutted ruin. Entire bulkheads were torn asunder, and vast sections of the ship's internal decks were opened directly to the sea with explosive force. The sudden loss of pressurization caused even further damage as without equalization; the pressure of the sea crushed the exposed decks with a deafening _crack _that was heard across the entire ship.

Over the wail of master alarms, James Banick hadn't even had time to fasten his restraints, and was thrown to the grated floor of the command deck with a solid and resounding crack in his side. He wheezed painfully as he felt something break there, but that was the least of his worries. Multiple alert klaxons flooded the bridge as dozens of warnings and alerts were displayed on just about every console of every station. If Atlantis survived this, it would be nothing short of an engineering miracle.

Clawing his way to his feet, Banick helped several other officers who had been standing just moments before back to their feet. _"Tactical!" _he yelled. "…Full damage report! Sensors: where the _hell _did they come from?"

Jack Phillips was dazed. He'd been rattled heavily in his restraints by the jarring shock of the explosions, and he wiped sweat from his face. Banick noted already that Phillips's sensor console displayed multiple errors and alerts from all different kinds of systems. "Long range sensors are offline," he reported simply. "But I'm nearly certain it was seaQuest. She's right behind us sir. She must have been waiting _below _us."

Banick cursed again with several four-letter nouns that he would otherwise not use while he held a hand low over his ribs that continued to send sharp lances of pain through him whenever he took a breath. "Damn it! Commander Callaghan? Where the hell is that damage report?"

Callaghan looked in a bad way. An ugly gash ran diagonally across his brow, and he looked very pale. "We've taken massive damage across all aft decks," he reported forlornly. "The majority of major ship systems are offline. Auxiliary power is online, but the primary power systems from engineering are completely dead. We have major hull breaches on all decks aft of section fifty six. Flooding is severe, but contained. EVA is inoperable. Aft sensors are shot to hell and both long range sensors and hypersonar are down."

"I other words," said Banick, "We're deaf, dumb, blind and impotent."

"Yes sir."

"Reroute everything you have from all available systems to auxiliary power."

"Including life support?" asked Callaghan with slight shock.

"Effing _**yes** _from life support!" yelled Banick angrily. "Firstly, if it's still working… I'll be god damned amazed. Secondly… we'll probably be dead in 5 minutes anyway!"

…The Macronesian Lysander imploded as Robert's Plasma torpedo detonated and engulfed it in a pressure wave of blue fire. Lieutenant Roberts rolled her fighter through the debris, taking no pause to wonder if the hapless pilot had managed to eject. "Scratch one. That's one less Lysander in the world."

Breaking away again, she targeted another fighter in her HUD and began chasing it. Through the canopy, she saw the massive hull of the Aquarius ASV race by as she skimmed over it at a distance of less than fifty meters. "Rapiers 3 and 5… fall out. I'm tracking half a dozen Mac Lysanders bearing two-one-seven. Pick your targets and intercept."

"Understood ma'am."

Pushing her throttles to the stops, she moved after the closing Lysander wing as fast as her Raptor would take her. Switching back to her super-cavitating Hades cannons, she began mentally tracing one of the Lysander's paths as she swung wide in to an attack vector that brought her in straight down on to the enemy fighter's dorsal hull. The Macronesian craft's wide-spread wings presented a perfect target, and she was just about to depress the trigger and almost certainly destroy it, when - to her surprise – her prey pulled in to a tight climb that brought him in a head-on course with her own fighter. It was in that instant that she made the most stupid mistake of the day. "So, it's a game of chicken you want…" she whispered under her breath, quiet enough so that no one on the open radio channel would hear her.

Rethinking her attack strategy, she switched back to her single remaining torpedo, and selected the brave Lysander in the HUD.

The two fighters charged at each other with a combined speed better than 600 knots; a blindingly fast pace of more than 300 meters per second. The Lysander was so distant that if it weren't for the Heads-Up Display's sensor-enhanced magnification, she wouldn't have been able to make it out at all. Keeping her finger steadily on the trigger, she completely ignored the various proximity alarms that her navigational computer was blaring, and didn't really pay attention to the torpedo lock that was being painted on her either. As the fighters drew closer and closer, Roberts smiled sinisterly as her HUD went solid red… and she squeezed the trigger.

The torpedo shot away from the Raptor and she rapidly broke off at the exact same moment as the Lysander fired its own torpedoes. Unfortunately for the Macronesian, he was far too slow (and with these speeds, that really only meant a fraction of a second) and Roberts' torpedo caught him in his turn, and exploded. The detonation destroyed the Alliance fighter quickly, but Roberts also had to work fast if she was to avoid a similar fate. Throwing her fighter in to a rapid dive, she accelerated to flank speed towards the ocean floor and hit the release for her countermeasures. Her blood ran cold when the master alarm flashed above the ECM monitors. She had none left. "Oh Christ… This is Rapier 2… I'm in serious trouble here."

With no countermeasures, she had no way to throw off the torpedo, all she could do was out fly it and hope for the best. Breaking hard right in her downward plunge, she snap-rolled the fighter back along its own axis in a very G-intensive turn and headed back towards the surface. The torpedo however was not fooled, and followed suit. "Tom!" she said in to the open comm. "I need help!"

Tom Reynolds, the ever-faithful wingman, responded swiftly. "I see you, Rapier 2… Pull up and break hard!"

Obediently, Roberts threw the Raptor in to an inverted, straight and level run, building up as much speed as possible in the final part of the turn, and then breaking away rapidly to port. It seemed to work, and the torpedo momentarily seemed to lose its lock. She sighed deeply in relief, but didn't see the second Lysander that was coming straight at her until it was too late."…Oh now this _sucks."_

Subduction fire lanced out from the enemy fighter, and tore through her port wing, turning the entire control surface in to an unrecognisable stump of shattered titanium and wrecked framework. Over the howl of master alarms, the fighter suddenly seemed to become extremely sluggish in its flight, and the cockpit began to rattle under the strain of the torn wing. "I'm hit!"

There was no more time. The torpedo, having reacquired its target, finally caught up and raced in for the final kill. Throwing the yolk hard left in one last, desperate attempt to evade it, the Raptor sluggishly pulled around, but it was to no avail. The torpedo closed the final gap… and exploded.

The shock slammed her forward, hard in to her restraints and she wheezed as the wind was knocked from her lungs. A tumbling ruin, the entire tail of her once-graceful Raptor was now little more than shattered debris, dispersing in the shockwave of the torpedo's explosion. Plummeting to the ocean bottom in an uncontrolled, lateral spin, Roberts strained to reach for the ejection handles, but under the extreme G-forces being exerted on her, it took every ounce of strength she had. _"Ejecting!" _

Ripping the ejection handles away; her head seemed to explode as the cockpit – canopy and all – blew away from the doomed subfighter under the thrust of its powerful rocket engines. Blood rushed away from her head under the extreme forces of gravity that were at work, the world became a blur, and then finally… everything went black…

"Torpedoes in the water! I count 12 fish!" exclaimed Jack Phillips in panic.

seaQuest had just fired every tube. Atlantis had no possible way of surviving a second assault. Already a virtual wreck, they could do almost nothing to stop it. Banick couldn't believe it. Atlantis had no more intercepts left, and she was now a sitting duck. "Helm! All ahead full! Take us deep in to the trench. Sound crash dive!"

"This submarine wasn't designed to crash dive!"

"Well if those torpedoes hit, we'll be crashing anyway. Just do it!"

Nervously, Natalie Canebride sighed through gritted teeth as she eased forward on the yolk. Atlantis lurched forward and began to Banick felt her start to descend rapidly beneath his feet. Turning to Callaghan at the tactical station with a glimmer of hope in his eye, he realised that the battered sub still had one last ace up her sleeve. "Did the Aries techs end up installing the EMP?" he asked quickly.

Callaghan looked genuinely worried about this idea. "Yes, but in our current state, we could fry every damned system on this ship. It's never been tested."

"Now is as good of a time as any. Bring it online… maximum power."

As part of her defensive armament, Atlantis had a single EMP field generator. If it worked as planned, then the Electromagnetic Pulse would fry everything electrical within half a kilometre of the submarine. But with the Atlantis so badly damaged, the EMP could very well destroy every electrical system aboard the sub, or worse; it could overload… and the built up energy would have absolutely no where to go. But given the alternative, they had little choice.

The torpedoes grew ever closer, and Atlantis dived deeper and deeper in to the Hemmingway trench.

"EMP Charged, sir," reported Callaghan.

"10 seconds to impact," reported Jack Phillips with growing alarm.

Banick mentally counted down the seconds, and whispered a silent prayer. He wasn't overly religious, but right now, he was making an exception. The next few seconds were the longest of his entire life.

"5 seconds," reported Phillips again.

Banick waited just half a second longer, and then committed himself to fate. _"Now!"_

Callaghan closed his eyes, whispering a prayer of his own before turning the firing key of the EMP as the torpedoes closed in their last hundred yards. With a high pitched whine, the huge built up electromagnetic charge deep within the Atlantis was released. A giant wave of energy washed through the sea, causing it to visibly distort as an ultra-sonic shockwave sent seismic tremors rumbling throughout the depths. The strange displacement wave washed over everything in its path, and the approaching torpedoes became purely ballistic; their engines and every system within them shutting down in the last possible second. One by one, they slammed in to the Atlantis's hull… but they did not explode.

On the bridge, Banick sighed as lights and control stations flicked erratically. But to his relief, and with a gentle hum that filled the bridge, the power returned quickly. It had worked! Without a moment to waste, Banick pointed at Callaghan, jumping back in the saddle and in to the fight. "Target the seaQuest, match sonar bearings for aft tubes 1 through 12!"

"No good, sir! Those last torpedoes we took completely gutted most our aft tubes! We've only got 3 operational batteries left!"

Banick swore, and Jack Phillips seemed to only have more bad news to give. "Commander, seaQuest is opening her outer doors again… she's going to fire!"

"Three batteries are better than none," said Banick, trying to see some form of hope through the chaos around him. "Are they fully loaded?"

"Yes sir. Each battery has 6 tubes loaded and armed."

Banick nodded quietly… Between the three torpedo batteries, it meant they had exactly 18 torpedoes ready to fire. It was no small number, but it was still everything they had. "Fire everything you have, Commander."

Callaghan pushed the button…and nothing happened. "Oh, _no…"_

The acting-captain looked pained. "Oh please. No… Don't tell me that. I don't want to hear it."

"Sir, the damage we took from the last torpedo salvo severely damaged the power relays to targeting sensors… and the EMP just fried our auxiliaries. We've got power, but we're bleeding so much through the damage that sensors simply aren't getting enough."

Banick didn't know whether to cry or laugh. He was standing on the command deck the most powerful ship ever created, and it was fast becoming the most _useless _shipcreated. "Bridge to engineering," he called, slapping the intercom on his command chair.

The exhausted and garbled voice of Chief Petty Officer Stevens had never sounded so sweet. At least, thought Banick, he was alive. "Go ahead, bridge."

Banick gritted his teeth, hoping that he wasn't about to regret his next decision. "I want you to give me all the power you can, and shunt it directly in to the sensors. Put the fusion core in to overload if you have to."

For a moment, static filled the intercom. Banick imagined Stevens standing there in engineering, his hand on the microphone, and a look of pure horror covering his face. It was an oddly amusing thought given the circumstances. "Sir, you want me to _overload_ the core?"

Banick sat back down and began punching orders in to his command console. "Don't argue with me, chief! Just _do it!"_

Overloading the Atlantis' fusion core would give the boat a surplus in power, perhaps _too _much, which was good when almost nothing was getting to the damaged sensors. But overloading a fusion reactor core had the capacity of causing a drama that would be very, _very _bad; usually resulting in a chain reaction vaporising everything within 10 kilometres.

"Do we have seaQuest's command codes?" Banick asked Callaghan on the level below.

"Yes sir. But I don't see how it would do us any good. Our sensors are so bad that we'd need to get a direct communications link up and running if we even wanted to attempt what I think you are suggesting."

Banick nodded. "How much control would we have?"

Callaghan shook his head solemnly. "The deadman codes allow for _limited _access to their computer… I'd say we'd have access to their memory logs, but not much else."

The solution hit Banick like a plasma torpedo. They still had a chance. He looked away at the sensor station where Jack Phillips continued to sit in pure, mortified horror of everything that was happening. He felt sorry for the young man; Phillips had handled himself exceptionally well under the most difficult circumstances imaginable, but everyone had their limits. "Mister Phillips," said the Commander sternly, doing his best to instil some confidence in the man. "…Get me the seaQuest on any channel you can. It's time we discussed the terms of our surrender."

…The bridge of the seaQuest was tense. Captain Raymond was poised to give the final order that would send the Atlantis to the bottom. Everything had worked as he'd planned; in the narrow confines of the Hemmingway trench, Atlantis was stuck on her course, and had no room to manoeuvre or turn around to face the seaQuest, which sat comfortably behind the ASV at a distance of just over a mile. The Radio officer seemed taken aback by something, and he turned around to give his report. "Captain Raymond. We're getting radio traffic from the Atlantis…" the radio officer frowned, listening to the message again through his headphones, making sure he understood it correctly. "…They surrender sir."

The sensor operator nodded in agreement with the radio officer. "I don't think they're bluffing, sir. I'm detecting a power overload in the Atlantis's fusion core, and almost every single system is down. They're finished, sir."

Raymond nodded slowly; still wary of any possible deception. He wouldn't put it past the annoying Atlantis Commander to try something dangerous. "Put them up," he ordered.

The screen at the front of the seaQuest's bridge resolved to the image of an extremely battered and ruined scene: the Atlantis Bridge. The officers there looked dishevelled and beaten. There was no pride left on their faces, and Raymond recognised the weary, haggard face in the center chair immediately. "Captain Banick. This is Captain Lance Raymond in command of the seaQuest."

Banick gave nothing away. "Captain… I am willing to discuss terms of our immediate surrender. We have wounded and our core is going in to overload."

"Very well, our terms are simple," replied Raymond. He was a reasonable man when need be, and saw no reason to gloat. All it did was inflate egos. "You will prepare to be boarded and to relinquish command of your vessel to the Macronesian Alliance. You and your crew will be taken as prisoners of the Alliance and will be detained on the seaQuest until you can be transferred to an appropriate port."

The commander of the UEO vessel seemed to hesitate, as if thinking it over…

…Banick stared at Raymond for a long, drawn out moment. "What… _assurances_ do we have that you will honour the Reykjavik accords?" he asked.

At the tactical station, Commander Callaghan frantically worked with the seaQuest's command codes. He shook his head at Banick with desperate eyes; pleading for more just a bit more time.

"You have my word, sir, but nothing more. We have no interest in destroying your vessel unless you give me no alternative," said Raymond as formally as his inherent smugness would allow.

Banick was an expert poker player, and still betrayed nothing. He was impressed by how reasonable Raymond was being, and if only for a moment, he considered that the offer was not band given the very few, and not to mention very dim alternatives. "…The terms are acceptable," he said quickly. "We need help locking this reactor down as soon as possible. I'm afraid we don't have much time… most our engineering crew has been killed, and those few who are left can't deal with it by themselves."

That was a lie, of course. But the Macronesian didn't seem to notice, and nodded curtly. "We will see what-"

…Callaghan winked at Banick from his station below, a small smile covering his features. _He'd done it._

…On the seaQuest's command deck, Captain Raymond was cut off mid-speech by his weapons officer. _"Captain!" _he reported in panic. "We've lost shooting solutions for all tubes and intercepts!"

"What?" spat Raymond in disbelief.

"I don't understand it sir… I can't do anything to get it back! It's like our memory banks have been erased. Weapons are unresponsive!"

Raymond's jaw fell slack. He'd been deceived. He shot back around to the main screen to look at Banick with growing rage. Before he could say a thing, the UEO officer shook his head. "-Captain Raymond… I'll give you one and _only_ one chance to surrender… Or I will fire."

Pointing to the communications officer, Raymond's face contorted in anger. "Shut him off!" he yelled. Obediently, the image of the ravaged Atlantis Bridge disappeared, and he spun on his heel to sprint over to weapons control. "Can you reacquire shooting solutions?"

"I'm _trying, _sir!"

"All engines: _Full reverse!"_

…Banick watched the helpless seaQuest slowly pulling away, and then looked around his own, ruined bridge. He had no choice. _"Fire…"_

From the rear of the Atlantis, the three remaining torpedo batteries let fly with everything they had left. Within seconds, 18 torpedoes were accelerating at an alarming speed to almost 200 knots. At a range of just one mile, their total flight time could be measured in seconds. With nowhere to turn, and no way to return fire, there was nothing the seaQuest could do. She visibly shook as the torpedoes struck her head-on. With the first few strikes, seaQuest's bow was gutted as the torpedoes tore deep in to her hull and ripped apart the boat's command centers, and the remaining weapons only further sealed the submarine's fate.

The water lit up in spectacular novas of white fire as the weapons consumed seaQuest, tearing apart her once-majestic and graceful hull. It was a painful image to watch: Reeling from the destruction, the seaQuest DSV started to break apart, and in a final, defiant scream of protest, the great submarine's hull imploded in a rapid staccato of low-pitched 'booms'. The massive blast of exploding pressure reverberated throughout the sea for miles, but it was heard on the Atlantis as nothing more than a low, trembling 'thump' across her decks; an anti-climax of tragic proportions.

Natalie Canebride, Ryan Callaghan, Madeline Hayes, James Banick, Jack Phillips and the rest of the Atlantis's bridge crew watched the death of seaQuest in silence. There was no cheering or satisfaction – only the gratitude that they were alive. Around them, Atlantis was a shadow of her former self; the bridge – once pristine and gleaming at every orifice – was now blackened and scarred. The smooth bulkheads that had covered the walls were now shattered and broken, and ruptured power cables were strewn from every frame and ceiling. Control stations were covered in debris from the collapsed sections of ceiling, and every light seemed faint through the thin curtain of smoke that filled the air. Finally, there was the avatar of the Atlantis's trident crest that had once hung proudly from the wall, illuminated by the shimmering eddies of the moonpool below. It was dark now; no light shined upon it, and ugly scars from where fire had lashed across it now marred its gleaming finish. It was a victory; but a hollow one. There was nothing here to celebrate. Jack Phillips's voice was distant in the silence; haunted and tired. "Commander…" he reported quietly. "We've just received word from the Aquarius. The Battle's over sir. The last of the Macronesians have fallen back. Captain Hornsby is asking if we need assistance."

Banick sank back in his chair and sighed. They were only a _few _minutes too late. "Tell them what's happened," he said tiredly. "And inform them we're headed back to Hawaii at best possible speed and that we will rendezvous with them there."

Quietly, Banick looked around at his smashed bridge one last time, and then steeled himself for the task of pulling the ship back together. "Take us home, Natalie," he ordered quietly. "There's one last thing that we need to do…"




	8. Saving Grace

**VIII**

**Saving Grace**

**Melbourne, Australia. Macronesian Alliance Capital Territory. Presidential Residence. November 20th, 2040…**

"The whole_ fleet?" _asked President Bourne in utter disbelief. General Henry Adamson stood at ease in front of the President's desk with a pair of senior military officers beside him – a Lieutenant General, and Vice Admiral respectively. Adamson looked impassive to the news, almost as if he'd been expecting it, but the shock of the issue had hit Alexander Bourne like an open-handed slap across the face. An entire taskforce of 4 carriers and nearly 2 dozen Orion class fast attack submarines had been virtually decimated by the UEO Advanced Submergence Vehicles, and to add insult to injury; the seaQuest – a ship had had gone to great lengths to secure - had been destroyed. Everything that had been planned had fallen to pieces like the smouldering debris that was now his taskforce sitting at the bottom of the Phoenix Islands. Adamson nodded gravely.

"Captain Randbrough's failure to deliver the Atlantis to us was… in some ways… _expected, _Mister President, but we couldn't have anticipated the arrival of the Aquarius."

Bourne nodded slowly and sighed. He couldn't blame Adamson or his staff for what had happened, and while damaging to morale, this small defeat was certainly not the end of the world. He still outnumbered the UEO close to 6 to 1 in terms of man power, and almost 4 to 1 in terms of pure ship numbers. It was only a matter of time before the UEO fell apart under this strain, but it annoyed him that it wouldn't be so straight forward as he'd hoped. "I think it's time we took a more subtle approach."

Adamson raised a curious eyebrow as the President got up from his desk and walked to a filing cabinet which he opened, and found a folder that was labelled with two simple words; 'Rising Thunder.'

"Mister President…" said Adamson, shaking his head as he looked at the folder, "The logistical and intelligence support required to pull of _that _operation would put us in a stalemate with the UEO for the next 6 months."

"We've waited nearly 6 _years, _General," said Bourne pointedly. "Another 6 months is trivial. Use whatever resources you require… but see that it's done. I will accept nothing less than total victory over the UEO Navy, and not a single submarine _or _its crew is going to stand in my way again…"

  

**UEO Pearl Point Naval Hospital, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 20th, 2040…**

Wing Commander Gabriel Hitchcock sat reading the _Honolulu Times_ with the morning sun filtering in through the blinds behind him. It felt odd reading the headlines that day, which spelt; _"Macronesia vs. Atlantis: UEO victory!" _

The article paid special attention to the epic duel between seaQuest and the Atlantis, telling in great (and largely speculative) detail how the ASV – outgunned and outnumbered – had managed to hold back insurmountable odds long enough for the Aquarius to arrive and save the day. Once again, the Rapiers had been covered with media love as the paper boasted how the Raptor squadron had taken the majority of enemy kills in the battle. Hitchcock was sure that Wing Commander Corinn Roderick and her Dark Angels pilots would be spewing when they read the story, and he couldn't say he overly blamed them.

Lying in a hospital bed next to him, sound asleep, was Lieutenant Jane Roberts. The Doctors had told him that her condition was stable, but that she would be in the bed for quite some time to come. Roberts had been lucky when she'd ejected. The immense strain it had put on her had ruptured her abdominal wall, and for a time, the medical staff aboard the Aquarius feared that she may even have sustained spinal injuries. While thankfully, it was revealed that this was _not _the case, he knew that his XO would be out of action for at least another 6 weeks.

The battle around the Phoenix Islands was a victory, but it had come at a high price. Between the two ASVs, they had lost 24 pilots and 38 subfighters during the engagement. The majority of these were the old SF-2/A Spectres. In addition, casualties on board both the Aquarius and Atlantis made up an additional 400 dead and wounded; most of those were on the Atlantis.

As for Lieutenant Roberts, rescue teams had pulled her battered cockpit module from the sea floor after it had sat there for nearly 10 hours. With life support systems failing, she was found in a bad way, suffering from sever hypothermia and oxygen deprivation. She was lucky to have made it out at all, and had it not been for the heroic search and rescue efforts of Commander Roderick and the VF-115 Dark Angels, she probably wouldn't have.

Hitchcock put down the newspaper as he realised a pair of eyes were looking at him from the bed. She was awake. "Hey," he said quietly. "You gave us quite a shock there."

Roberts didn't move, but managed a hoarse whisper. "Commander… Where am I?"

"Pearl Point Naval Hospital," he replied with a smile.

"What? The Macronesians…"

Hitchcock chuckled, shaking his head. "It's over. You ejected, remember? We pulled you out of the water nearly 24 hours ago. You're lucky to be here, you know."

Roberts lay back again and sighed, closing her eyes. "I am so stupid…" she said whilst shaking her head.

"Hmm?"

"That damned Mac," she said with a rasping laugh. "If I ever see him again… his ass is mine."

The Wing Commander's expression mixed amusement with the stern, reprimanding stare of a commanding officer. "Yes, Tom gave me a full report on your little stunt..." he said with a low growl.

She tried to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. "Well… it worked, didn't it?"

"_Yes…" _he said hesitantly. "But in the process, you destroyed a 90 million dollar piece of military equipment… I _know_ you have a very strong sense of Japanese tradition in you, and the UEO does love that multicultural stuff, but could you _please _leave the _Kamikaze_ instincts in the year 1945?"

Roberts laughed lightly, despite the pain it caused her. "Yes sir."

"I've also revoked your flight clearance for the next six weeks while we convene an inquiry to decide what to do with you."

"I'll be in _here _for six weeks anyway. What exactly does that do for me?

"That's exactly my point," said Hitchcock with a wry smile. "But you would have been off the flight rosters indefinitely had I not put in a good word with Commander Banick."

"You did that for me?" she asked with a far-too-sweet smile.

"You're an excellent Pilot, Jane," confessed Hitchcock. "…Which is the whole reason you're in this squadron to begin with. I would hope that with that comes the ability to recognise when you've made a mistake. So promise me I won't regret this."

"You won't, sir," she said more seriously. "Thank you."

"Right…" Hitchcock got up from his chair, folding the newspaper he was holding in his hand in half. "Well, Wing Commander Roderick lost a bet to me yesterday, so I'm off to the _Full Fathom Five_ to meet with her and collect on my debt."

Roberts smiled; the thought of the well known Dark Angels-Rapiers rivalry never failed to amuse her. "Give the Wing Commander my best," she said.

"Oh I will," replied Hitchcock, handing Roberts the folded newspaper. "You might like to read this, by the way."

She unfolded the paper and read the headline. She smiled, shaking her head. "Well… at least it might make a good story. Not sure how accurate they got it."

"Oh well, you know," said the older Wing Commander dismissively. "Same old, same old. Anyway… you need rest," he added as if he were a doctor giving a patient an order. "I'll check in on you tomorrow. Take it easy, Ok?"

"I will. Thank you, sir."

With a quick smile and a nod, Hitchcock turned on his heel and began walking to the door. He didn't get far however as he came to a stop, and looked at her with a frown. "Oh… By the way, Lieutenant… I've heard a rumour."

"Oh?"

"Do you _really _keep a Katana in your cockpit?"

She laughed a little in reply, but didn't say a word. Her smile was mischievous, but betrayed nothing. Some things, she decided, were best kept secret. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir."

  

**United Earth Oceans Headquarters. Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 20th, 2040…**

Things had been quiet as far as every day duties were concerned at the UEO headquarters complex located on Pearl Point. A Marine Corporal passed the time by checking his rifle time and time again. It was a bright day in Hawaii, with the sun beating down and a light, cool breeze rustling through the palms that made up the well-kept gardens of the headquarters' front entrance. The Marine could think of a thousand things he'd like to do on a day like this… but guard duty for a bunch of bureaucrats and high-ranking military officers was not one of them. His black dress uniform only added to his troubles.

Down the road, he noticed a trio of dark-blue Humvees approaching quickly, on their sides was the blue and gold crest of the UEO. He frowned as the vehicles came to a stop at the end of the path just down from the entrance, and a bunch of UEO security officers got out and begun walking up the path quickly. The Marine frowned, stepping forward and holding up a hand. "Sorry, Gentlemen… I can't let you in here with those weapons. You'll have to relinquish your side arms."

The security chief in charge of the mob looked less than pleased, and several of his subordinates held a hand over their weapons. The chief held up several papers abruptly; not wanting any discussion on the matter. The marine read the forms, and raised his eyebrows in quiet shock. For whatever reason, these men had been given a level-one security pass that granted them access to literally anywhere in the headquarters building they wanted. "Step aside, Corporal," he said sternly. "If you don't, I can have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

The Marine, unaccustomed to such blatant threats seemed taken aback by all this, and he hesitantly stepped to the side, and nodded to his 2 compatriots on the other side of the way. "…Yes sir… Let them through!"

As the Marine waved an "Ok" to the checkpoint just inside the doors, the security chief nodded approvingly as he and his security team walked in to the building unhindered…

Arthur Dallinsley; retired UEO Fleet Admiral and now-Secretary General was in a state of damage control. The process of eliminating a long trail of breadcrumbs that went from Captain Randbrough through to him and about half a dozen other senior military officers was not an easy one. Right now, his best defence was plausible deniability, which thankfully; he had. He very much doubted the capability of one Commander James Banick of bringing the Secretary General of the UEO up on charges of treason. Even he had the dirt; he simply didn't have the respect or position in the UEO to do anything with it, and his Captain would soon be serving out the rest of his days in a maximum security prison, totally unable to help.

A set back? Perhaps. But Arthur Dallinsley had survived worse than this, and he would simply ride out the storm as he always had.

Right then however, his thoughts were elsewhere as he dealt with the menial tasks of command. The computer monitor atop his desk showed the face of Admiral David Sterling; the chief of UEO Special Operations in the Pacific. Under most circumstances, Dallinsley wouldn't deal with such people directly, but the state of war that had been declared meant that some changes were inevitable

"Admiral Sterling… Right now, we have about two and a half thousand special operations of various descriptions operating over the Pacific. We have everything from intelligence officers who are collecting and analysing information on what the Chaodai eat for breakfast, all the way through to your own troops running espionage operations against the Macronesians on every front. Do you honestly expect to be able to maintain _all _these operations given our rather precariously stretched supply situation?"

Sterling was a man of over 35 years military experience, and while he knew how to run his department with exceptional skill and with an almost unrivalled knowledge of Special Operations, he was not a politician, and _didn't _know how to deal with things like national economies and defence budgets; the very things that kept his operations on the rails. "Mister Secretary, I accept that the current situation _will _call for a cut back in operational scale, but I sincerely believe that the proposed requisition restrictions you are putting on the SOC are going to see a very _dramatic _decline in operational success and the ability to supply those operations."

Dallinsley looked at Sterling apathetically. "…Admiral, every year the UEO puts over 15 _billion _dollars in to your operations and that excludes the cost of associated Intelligence departments. I simply cannot rationalise that kind of spending given the current projected figures of war expenditure. We _have _to make sacrifices."

"Sacrifices I can understand, Mister Secretary," tried Sterling, searching for a compromise. "But you are talking about taking away _half _of my resources in the Marshalls alone. There must be some form of compromise we can meet, sir."

"Listen, David," said the Secretary General with a more informal approach to the proceedings. "I want you to know I am doing everything I can to support your argument with the Joint Chiefs, but the fleet is under immense pressure, and I simply cannot continue to play both sides. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to pick a side of the fence, and stay there."

"Yes sir…"

Dallinsley shook his head apologetically, but silently grew tired of the argument. Thankfully, he thought, he wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer as his secretary walked in with a look of concern covering her delicate features. Finally: a distraction. "-I'm sorry, Admiral. I have something I must attend to. I will get back to you on this at a later time."

"Yes sir," repeated the Admiral in defeat. "Sterling: out."

Dallinsley sighed deeply and turned to look at his secretary. "Yes, Madeline? Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Secretary, I tried to tell them you were busy but-"

She did get a chance to finish as a group of heavy-set security officers barged in to the office uninvited, and looking particularly ill-amused.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the Secretary General, rising to his feet angrily.

"Secretary General Dallinsley," said the officer in charge formally. Much to his concern, the other security officers held their hands low over their side-arms, as if waiting for a signal to draw. "For violation of articles 1 and 2 of the UEO charter, and conspiracy to commit treason against the United Earth Oceans organization, and its member states, we are placing you under arrest."

Dallinsley blinked in stunned disbelief. This wasn't happening! "At whose authority?" he said defiantly.

"The Attorney-General of the UEO. You will have to come with us, sir."

Short of the melodrama involving jumping out his ninth-storey window, Dallinsley had no where to go. Quickly, two of the security officers approached him with handcuffs, but he would have no part of it and held up his hands. "That will not be necessary. I have no need to run away from these… _ridiculous_ charges. I will submit myself to your custody willingly."

The security chief exchanged a sceptical look with one of his compatriots, and shook his head. "With all due respect sir, we think it _is _necessary."

And as quickly as it took to bind him in the restraints, the reign of retired Fleet Admiral Arthur Dallinsley – Secretary General of the UEO – came to an end…

  

**Honolulu city, Hawaii. United Earth Oceans High Court. November 20th, 2040…**

Captain Mark Ainsley was going to be burnt at the stake; of that there could be very little doubt. The prosecution had rested, and Ben Adler had nothing left to use in his defence. It seemed utterly hopeless. The Judge, Admiral Timothy Locke, was just about ready to declare the court adjourned for the Jury to make their decision. "Commander Adler?" said Locke; expectantly waiting for an answer from the defence attorney. "Does defence counsel have any other witnesses or evidence to present?"

It was the second time Locke had asked the question, and Ainsley could only shake his head at Adler beside him. There was no point in procrastinating any further. The Prosecution had made the entire trial look like an open-and-shut case, and there was very little that could be solidly contested to reasonable doubt. Adler sighed, and shook his head. "…No your honour," he confessed. "We do not."

"Very well," said Locke, sighing deeply. He too knew that things did not look good for Ainsley. "Then this court stands recessed while the Jury-"

-The doors at the rear of the court almost seemed to burst open as a trio of officers ran down the aisle towards the fence that separated the stands from the prosecution and defence benches. Natalie Canebride, James Banick and Ryan Callaghan all looked incredibly flustered, as if they had run ten miles to get there in time. Admiral Locke looked at them in baffled shock, wondering what could possibly have been going on, and why they had interrupted his court so abruptly. "What is going _on _here?" he demanded

The Bailiff off to the side looked as if he were about to spear-tackle the intruders to the ground, but Locke held up a hand as if restraining the security officer on a leash. Banick leaned over the fence, whispering something quietly to Commander Adler, and nodding reassuringly to the Captain beside him.

"_Commander Adler?" _repeated the Judge with rapidly growing agitation.

The Defence attorney's face was suddenly a mix of pure shock, and ecstatic joy as he took a set of offered Papers from James Banick and turned around to face the judge. "Your Honour… Defence would like to present new evidence. In fact, we move for _dismissal _of the case."

Admiral Locke looked positively stoked by the comment, and didn't know what to say. Commander Jamieson at the prosecution bench leaned over to look at Adler on the other side of the room. "This ought to be good… On what amazing grounds do you move for dismissal?"

"Permission to approach the bench, your honour," countered Adler, ignoring Jamieson's almost snide remark.

"By all means, Commander; please _do. _I think you'd better explain yourself."

Adler smiled at Ainsley, and then got out of his chair and moved across the floor with a bounce in his step that hadn't been seen since the trial began. Commander Jamieson too, also approached the Admiral. "Admiral Locke…" said Adler quietly and almost under his breath. "I didn't want to say this aloud… But the Secretary General was just arrested for Treason."

The Admiral nearly dropped his gavel, and Jamieson's jaw became slack. "When?" he asked.

"10 minutes ago. The order came from straight from the attorney-general's office, and the NSC has decided to drop the charge of treason against the Captain because of it."

"May I see that?" asked Jamieson, pointing to the papers what Adler held. He shrugged, handing them to her helplessly. There was absolutely nothing to contest.

Admiral Locke looked up at the court; still dazed by the shock of the news he'd just been given. "In light of new evidence and circumstances brought to my attention by the Defence… For reasons that I will not divulge, the charge of treason against Captain Ainsley was _dropped _10 minutes ago by executive order of the North Sea Confederation High Command. This court is recessed while I, and the Jury, make our respective decisions."

Murmurs of uncertainty and confusion rose throughout the court as Journalists on every stand pulled out Personal Access Links and began having conversations with their producers and news services. Admiral Locke brought down his gavel, confirming his order and then quickly leaving the court through the door behind the bench. The Bailiff didn't even get a chance to ask the court to rise before the Judge had disappeared.

Commanders Jamieson and Adler were left to stand alone in front of the Admiral's bench, and the chief prosecutor looked at Adler with a raised eyebrow, nodding slowly. "Well, I don't know where the hell _that _came from… but congratulations, Ben. I think you just won the trial."

"…Boy do we have a story for you, sir," Banick said to Ainsley with a broad grin, offering a hand which the Captain took with a very accommodating and firm grip.

"I bet you do," said Ainsley as he looked at the row of stitches above Ryan Callaghan's eyebrow. "… I don't know what to say," he continued, looking at the trio of officers who had just come to his rescue. "_Thank _you."

"You did all the work, sir," said Banick with an assuring smile. "We just… took a leap of faith."

"I know," said Ainsley with an appreciative smile. "You certainly know how to cut things fine."

Banick chuckled, looking at Canebride with a twinkle in his eye before returning his gaze to his Captain. "Sorry we took so long in getting here sir, but… I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to discuss it. Atlantis is going to be in the Aries dry-docks for at least 2 or 3 weeks after-"

Ainsley's face suddenly became very alarmed at the mention of the words 'Atlantis' and 'Dry-dock' in the same sentence. "…What? Jim… What have you done to my ship!"

Callaghan repressed a grin, and had to turn away to hide his stifling laughter. Banick bit his lip. "Like I said, sir… it's a long story."



A gruellingly long 15 minutes later, the court was about to reconvene. The public galleries were once again packed with onlookers from the Navy, the Press, and many other branches of the UEO military. At the front row, just behind the defence bench were the Atlantis's senior staff. In front of them sat Mark Ainsley and Ben Adler, who waited with breathless anticipation.

The door to the Judge's chambers opened, and the Bailiff entered the room. "All rise," he said. The court did so obediently, and Admiral Timothy Locke entered the room and stepped up on to his bench behind the Dais which proudly bore the golden, stylized crest of the United Earth Oceans.

"You may be seated," he said as he set several papers out in front of him and then clasped his hands together. "As most of you will now be duly aware," he begun slowly and with deliberation. "…Nearly half an hour ago, Arthur Dallinsley's tenure as Secretary General of the UEO came to an end as he was arrested for the charge of conspiracy to commit treason. Fifteen minutes ago, Admiral Nathan Bridger resigned his commission within the Navy - effective immediately - to take the oath of office of Secretary General at the emergency recommendation of the United Earth Oceans Security Council."

Many members of the press who were in the public galleries were frantically writing down everything they could. Cameras – thankfully – were not allowed in the court room. "I spoke to Secretary General Bridger a little over 10 minutes ago when he called my office in regards to the proceedings which have been undertaken in this courtroom. He informed me in detail of what has occurred over the past week that has led to these extraordinary events. The story - which I cannot relate to this court for reasons of military secrecy – was an incredible tale about the crew of one of the UEO's most controversial submarines; the Atlantis ASV.

In light of the evidence brought against Secretary Dallinsley, the North Sea Confederation and the Royal Navy have exonerated Captain Ainsley of any guilt in the charge and specification of treason, and with the support of Admiral Bridger, recommended that he _retain _his command of the Atlantis."

The crew of the Atlantis, sitting in the stands, smiled broadly as they whispered to each other. Ainsley and Ben Adler however did not flinch as they stood behind the bench, looking at the judge. "…This does _not _however answer the question of Dereliction of Duty," continued Locke seriously. "…And the charge and specification still stands." Locke looked aside at the jury of Captains and Admirals with a brief pause. "Captain Welton… has the jury reached a decision?"

"We have your honour," said Captain Charles Welton, standing up from his seat.

"You may proceed with your verdict," said Locke as the Bailiff passed a small note between the Jury to his desk.

Captain Welton nodded, putting on his glasses and a sheet of neatly-folded paper from his pocket. "On the dismissed charge of treason against the United Earth Oceans organization… this jury finds Captain Ainsley _not _guilty."

He paused, skipping ahead to the second point on the letter. "On the charge and specification of Dereliction of Duty… we decided that it was more than a simple question of _right _or _wrong. _They were a question of moral obligation to what the UEO stands for, and while we acknowledge the fact that Captain Ainsley did _knowingly _disobey direct orders to return to Pearl Harbor, how can we condemn an action that was inspired by the decision to follow the basic, founding principles of the UEO charter? The simple answer is that we can't… On the charge and specification of Dereliction of Duty, this Jury finds you _not _guilty, and recommends that you be returned to active duty and your post as Captain of the ASV Atlantis retained."

Ainsley did not say a thing as he nodded curtly to the Jury, maintaining his almost stern composure with very quiet reservation. The same could not be said for the rest of the court however, as the decision was met with a standing ovation from both journalists and military officers alike; in particular, the senior staff of the Atlantis. Admiral Locke simply shook his head over the noise with a quiet, inward smile. He would let them have their moment, and brought his gavel down one final time. "This court is adjourned."

After Locke had made the decision final, Ainsley finally allowed himself to relax, hanging his head exhaustedly with a sigh. Much to his surprise, even Commander Jamieson was applauding. He was met with handshakes from various UEO officers as he walked down the aisle towards the doors; a free man, and – while he didn't realise it – a public hero: a Rebel… _with_ a cause.

Outside, a gathering of journalists and news broadcasters seemed to have given new meaning to the term "Mass Media," and it was probably the largest gathering of newsagencies that Ben Adler had ever seen at a trial. This time, however, he was more than happy to answer the questions that they were firing at him. _"Commander Adler!_ You must be very pleased with the outcome of this case. Do you have any thoughts on what this decision may lead to?"

The lawyer was nothing but smiles as he walked away from the court house with Ainsley following close behind. "I could not be happier," he said pleasantly. "It is once again a joy to see that Justice won and that Captain Ainsley will return to duty as Commanding Officer of the Atlantis."

"Do you have anything to say about the arrest of Secretary Dallinsley?"

"I can't say I do. It's not my job to pass judgement, I merely argue the evidence."

The questions continued for quite some time, and he answered most of them as best as he could. But finally, he held up his hands tiredly. "I appreciate that you all have questions, and I will answer them in due course… But Captain Ainsley and I have a good deal of celebrating to do," he declared. "So, please… no more questions for today."

Much to Adler's surprise, the journalists obediently backed off, leaving him alone with Ainsley, and the rest of the Atlantis's senior staff. The Captain smiled as he extended his hand in gratitude. "Ben, I'll be in town for a while. I think you and I _do _need to celebrate."

Commander Ben Adler grinned as he took Ainsley's offered hand warmly. "I agree. How about tonight? I know of this great little restaurant on Waikiki, maybe-"

Almost immediately, Canebride and Banick looked at each other in shock, and cried out in unison. "Captain, _No!"_

The Captain and his attorney blinked in shock at the very sudden and unexpected outcry. Ainsley didn't quite know what to say, and his XO realised this, and failed to hide a smug grin as he cleared his throat and looked back with a wink to Natalie Canebride behind him

"Captain…" he said quietly… "Can I have a brief word?"



**The "Kamehameha" restaurant, Waikiki Beach, Hawaii. November 20th, 2040…**

Sunset had come to Waikiki, and Natalie Canebride and James Banick finally found themselves alone outside. At the other end of the restaurant, Captain Ainsley and the rest of the senior staff were busy with their own celebrations, having quietly agreed to excuse their absence. Cheers and laughter were periodically heard from the other table, but it didn't bother the two officers, who for tonight at least, were nothing more than close friends.

James Banick lifted a glass of champagne, looking at Natalie hesitantly - who seemed to glow radiantly in the warmth of the sun behind her back. "To friends," he said quietly.

Canebride smiled shyly as she lifted her own glass. "To friends."

Sipping the pale, fruity liquid, Banick paused to look out at the waves lapping on to the beach not far away and sighed "You know. I'm beginning to really regret one thing," he said distantly.

Natalie smiled as she leaned forward, and planted her elbows on the table. "And what's that?"

Banick looked back and smiled. "Not bringing a camera," he confessed. "We've spent too long at sea. Sometimes… it's easy to forget what we're out they're trying to defend; _this."_

"That doesn't mean we can't enjoy it," she reasoned quietly, looking back at the Captain's party that was now beginning to build up steam. She held up a hand quickly as a waitress passed. "Excuse me? Can you please tell us how much longer our meals will be?"

"Probably about 10 to 10 minutes," replied the waitress with a smile. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all," replied Canebride happily. "We were just going to take a quick walk."

"Certainly," said the Waitress, still smiling, before quickly attending to other things.

Banick shrugged and got up before offering his hand. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely."

Standing up, they began to walk hand-in-hand across the sands of Waikiki. Standing at the water's edge, with the cool waves of the tide lapping at their feet, they simply stood, and watched as the sun went down over the western horizon. For the moment, at least, neither of them had a single trouble in the world.

The UEO stood on a dangerous threshold, and they would soon be at the forefront of that uncertainty. Beneath the surface, they would defend their future, and the fate of an entire planet would be decided by those who were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, and ask nothing in return

…But not tonight.

For now, at least… the future could wait.



_"The Navy has both a tradition and a future - and we look with confidence and pride in both directions"   
_-Admiral George Anderson

Atlantis ASV: "Atlantis" (Second release)

Copyright 2003-2005

'seaQuest DSV', 'seaQuest 2032' and their respective themes are copyrights of Universal/Amblin Entertainment. No Infringement is intended.

Many thanks are due to the following people (in no particular order):

Blake Muir, for being a true friend for the past 6 years. (We put up with a lot from each other…)

Daniel G. Williams, for his trademarked brutal honesty and constructive criticism

Nicholas Frankpitt, for being able to drop lame jokes that destroy inflated egos

Jim "General Nuke 'Em" Shen, for technical advice and "destructive" criticism

Daniel Watson, for his constant support and being a never-ending source of inspiration

John Miles, for being a sounding board whenever the situation called for it.

Liam Abercrombie, a fan and the newest member of my writing staff. Keep it up!

My apologies and thanks to anyone I missed. (I'm sure you know who you are, even If I don't)

It goes without saying; Thanks guys.

January 2003: Atlantis ASV Episode I: Atlantis

August 2003: Atlantis ASV Episode II: Shadows of the Phoenix

January 2004: ASV Frontlines: Storm Warning

August 2004: ASV Frontlines: Full Fathom Five

November 2004: Atlantis ASV Episode III: Rising Thunder

December 2004: ASV Frontlines: Liberty or Death

_2005… Episode IV_


End file.
